


Flatline

by puddlejumper99



Series: Out of the Ashes [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Erratic, Physical Abuse, Sequel, a disturbing lack of cupcakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-08-01 18:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper99/pseuds/puddlejumper99
Summary: Neil is missing, Andrew is frantic, and Riko is a scheming son of a bitch.The Foxes have no idea what they're in for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're baaaaaaack
> 
> thanks to my beta for keeping track of my sideways sentences. you can find them [here](https://fangirlshippingships.tumblr.com/)
> 
> chapter warnings for violence and homophobia

Beth hummed softly to herself as she rummaged through her locker, digging out the textbook and binder for her next class. Teia had bedecked the binder in sequins; it was pretty hideous, and Beth adored it. 

She turned away and flinched back immediately, hitting the lockers in surprise. Andrew stood less than a foot away, still as a carving. 

Her eyes jumped down the hallway, immediately nervous. The space around them was nearly empty, her classmates prudently skittering away from Andrew’s volatile presence. “Um,” she said. 

“Where is he?” Andrew asked. 

Beth stared at him, uncomprehending. Andrew just stood there, hands loose at his sides, staring straight past her. 

A sick suspicion rose in her stomach. There was only one  _ he _ that they both had in common. “Neil?”

He gave no perceptible acknowledgement, but her gut twisted anyway. “He’s missing? Since when?”

The word pulled out of his mouth slowly, like it was a chore. “Friday.”

“Oh my god,” she said. 

Andrew dragged his gaze up to focus on her. 

Her throat tightened, squeezing her airway wire-thin. This wasn’t his normal bored stare. She hadn’t spent much time around Andrew, but even she could tell. This was colder, like a sheet pulled over a corpse to hide it from view. 

She shuddered at the mental image. “Should we call the cops?”

“No,” Andrew said. “They can only make it worse.”

Beth wanted to protest, but she just hugged herself. She grew up in a black neighbourhood; she knew better. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asked. 

A long pause. “No,” Andrew said, finally, and turned away. 

Beth’s chest felt like it was caving in. “Wait!” 

He stalled, inertia carrying him forward like a leaf in a current, swaying on his feet. Beth twisted her fingers into knots. “You’re going to find him, right?”

No answer, but she didn’t need one. 

“I want to help.”

Andrew faced her, glacial slow and just as barren. “Friday,” he said. 

God, he was cryptic. She rummaged through her memories, trying to align the events of Friday in a way that revealed something. There wasn’t much. “We ran the bake sale like usual, and then we split up once we were packed up. He didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. He…he was talking about Exy, mostly. About practicing with you.”

Andrew nodded, slow. 

“Did you see him after the game?” she asked

“No.”

Beth drew in a deep breath. Her hands were shaking. “So sometime between the end of the game and when you got out of the changeroom, something happened.”

A nod. 

“Okay. I’ll ask around, see if anyone—”

“Quietly.”

“What?”

He stared at her, unfathomable and immoveable. “You’ll ask, quietly.”

There was something in the way he said it that twisted, deeper than flesh, deeper than bone. She was in so far over her head she couldn’t even see the surface. She swallowed, hard. “Okay,” she said again. 

Andrew gazed at her a moment longer, like he was gauging her on a scale Beth couldn’t even comprehend. 

Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the hallway.

\---

The next day, Andrew stood next to Millport High’s front gate, hands empty and mind blank and cold as freshly fallen snow. His rental car was parked on the street beside him, still hot from the two hour drive from the nearest airport. The heat of spring in Arizona couldn’t crack the ice encasing him. 

The small rural school hummed with activity as class let out for the day. He’d known, even when he broke into the principal's office to steal Neil's transfer records, that at best they'd be a misdirection.

He’d needed to check anyway.

Students roamed the grounds, a couple of them glancing askance at him. Millport didn't see many strangers. And even with a disguise, Andrew would know Neil anywhere. He wasn't here.

Rage rose in his chest like a frozen wind. Neil had promised to tell Andrew if he was leaving, but only  _ if  _ it was safe. A promise with an  _ if  _ was no promise at all. He should've known better than to let Neil offer something so flimsy.

_ If they catch me, I die. _

Which meant one of two things had happened. Something had gone wrong, and Neil got away. Or something had gone wrong, and Neil was dead.

And Andrew had never been much of an optimist.

\---

Beth was a terrible spy. 

She sat on the couch next to Teia, drumming her fingers on her thigh in agitation. Two of Teia’s friends sat in the living room, chatting away loudly. She’d told everyone Neil transferred—it was the official line, after all—and everyone had nodded and moved on. None of them found it suspicious, and so none of them felt the need to divulge any information they had about Friday. In the three days since she’d spoken to Andrew, she’d learned absolutely nothing useful. 

Every day that passed felt like water eroding a sandy bank. What was that statistic about missing persons? That you only had two days to find them alive, or your odds plummeted to nearly zero. 

She toyed with her phone to keep her dire thoughts at bay, scrolling through Instagram and Facebook without absorbing a word. 

“Hey,” Teia murmured, nudging her side. “Everything okay?”

Beth blinked, looking up. “Yeah,” she said. “Just tired.”

Teia smiled and pressed their knees together gently, a warm reminder. Beth wanted to throw the others out of the apartment and hide her face in Teia’s stomach for a while. Maybe cry. She tucked her hands between her thighs instead and watched the others chat, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. 

“I’m quitting the team,” Teia was saying.

“What?” Quinn demanded. “Why?”

Teia shrugged nonchalantly, though Beth knew she’d been agonizing over this for months. “Coach is a dick. It’s just not that fun anymore.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be a senior next year,” Ryan said. “With Andrew graduated, you’ll be starting line.”

Teia huffed. “Coach will find some fourteen-year-old guy and put him in starting line before he promotes me. He was the same way with Andrew.”

“That’s different though, Andrew wasn’t a rookie. Coach wouldn’t put a total newbie in goal before you.”

“Wanna bet?” Teia muttered. 

“Do you think Andrew will sign with the Ravens?” Quinn asked.

Ryan scoffed. “Come on, you saw the video. Besides, he signed with the Foxes, right, Beth?”

Beth jumped as all eyes went to her. “Yes?” she said. “Why are you all looking at me?”

“He hangs out with you sometimes,” Ryan said. “Did he say anything?”

“He doesn’t hang out with me, he hangs out with Neil. That’s the only reason he tolerates me.”

“He almost stabbed her,” Teia added, sharp. 

“To be fair,” Beth said, “he almost stabbed Neil a couple times, too.”

Teia’s scowl deepened, protective. “Yeah, well, Neil’s a little cracked, isn’t he? Point is, you’re not friends.”

Ryan and Quinn didn’t look convinced. “He talks to you, though,” Quinn said. “He doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of us, and we’re on the same team.”

Beth frowned. “I guess, a little. But he’s never mentioned the Ravens. Neil was pretty confident he was signing with the Foxes.”

“Okay,” Quinn said. “I just wondered if he’d changed his mind after Riko Moriyama visited last week.”

“Wait, what?” Teia interrupted. “Moriyama?”

“Yeah, I saw him outside the school after the game,” Quinn said. “I figured he was there to talk to Andrew? You didn’t see him?”

A jolt of intuition went through Beth. 

“No,” Ryan said. “And I was there way after the game talking to Coach. Are you sure it was him?”

“I’m not stupid,” Quinn snapped. “I saw the tattoo.”

“Was Kevin Day there?” Beth interrupted. 

Teia shot her a surprised look. Beth ignored her for the moment, intent on Quinn. 

“I didn’t see him,” she said. “But Moriyama was sitting on a big fancy limo. Day could’ve been inside.”

“Hm,” Beth said, fiddling with her phone and pretending to check a text message. “Just a sec, I gotta make a call.”

“Is something wrong?” Teia asked. 

“No, just dad,” Beth said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Holiday stuff.”

“Okay,” Teia said, frowning a little. Beth leaned over to give her a quick kiss. 

Teia stiffened, her eyes darting over to Ryan. Beth retreated instantly, a spark of anger flaring in her chest towards him. She smothered it and stood, slipping into her bedroom. 

She thumbed through her call history until she found a two-minute call from an unknown number, two weeks ago. It rang three times before there was a click, and a background hum. 

“Andrew?” she asked into the silence. “It’s Beth.”

“Wait,” he said, and she could hear him moving through the crackle on the line. The faint click of a door sounded, and then, “What?”

“You might already know this—it’s probably stupid, but it just seemed weird—”

“Get on with it.”

“Quinn saw Riko Moriyama outside the school on Friday. She thought he was there to talk to you.”

A beat of silence. “He wasn’t,” Andrew said, his voice outlined in iron. “Did she see anything else?”

“I don’t know. He had a limo? She didn’t see Kevin Day, but he could’ve been there too. Do you think it’s related?”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, and hung up. 

\---

Andrew stared at the phone in his hand, breathing shallowly. The back alley behind Eden’s smelled like rotting food and urine. A used condom lay forlornly on the pavement a few steps away.

His fingers itched to just grab his keys and take off right now. He could probably make it to Edgar Allan Stadium by dawn. Riko Moriyama at the school on the day Neil disappeared? It was too much of a coincidence. 

He clenched his fist so tightly around his phone that the plastic creaked, letting his breath out in a shaky cloud. It crystallized in the cold air, a white fog. He needed to get Nicky and Aaron home first; he didn’t know what waited for him in West Virginia, and he wouldn’t leave them at the club alone. 

Tomorrow, then. He’d already missed one day of school this week, but he didn’t care. Not when Neil might be out there, might be hurt. 

_ It’s not your job to protect me anymore. _

Fuck him. Fuck him for assuming Andrew wouldn’t, after everything. Fuck him for making Andrew stupid enough to break his own rules.  

He shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to head back inside. 

“Hey, faggot!” a voice echoed down the alley. Andrew froze, hand on the doorknob. A crack and a thud, and someone cried out piteously. 

Andrew was already halfway down the alley when he recognized Nicky’s voice. “Stop, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I—”

“Shut up, you fucking fag,” a man snarled, punctuated by a wet thud. 

Andrew rounded the corner and broke into a sprint. Nicky lay crumpled at the base of the wall, hands held up in front of his bloodied face. Four men surrounded him, their intent obvious. 

Andrew’s vision went red. His fist connected with someone’s face, and he heard screams. He didn’t care. He slammed the man’s head into the wall, let him drop to the ground in a broken heap, and rounded on the other three. 

“Hey—”

Andrew caught the man’s arm and twisted ruthlessly, feeling the crack of a snapping bone under his fingers. His fist crunched into the man’s nose and his scream choked off with a wet sound. 

Someone screamed for the cops. Running feet echoed down the narrow alley. Nicky was still begging, his voice distant.  _ Andrew, stop, they’re not worth it _ —

Andrew’s fingers closed on a thick throat and he squeezed, bearing down ruthlessly. Hands yanked at his shoulders, but he didn’t let go, just threw his head back. The crown of his head ricocheted off someone’s chin, and the hands released him.

The man beneath him scrabbled weakly at his fingers, skin purpling. Foam sputtered from his lips. Andrew bared his teeth, shaking him. Fury roared through him like a forest fire, burning away everything but the desire to destroy. 

\---

Andrew did not go to West Virginia the next day.

The next day he woke up in a cell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like you all should know that in my original notes this was chapter 11


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which riko is an asshole, and andrew is also an asshole but for better reasons

Smoke stained Andrew’s fingers yellow as he burnt through another cigarette, his throat aching from grit. His eyes felt dry and a little blurred from the nicotine coursing through his system. The industrial district was shaded in grey and pink, like rotting meat. 

The tracker on his ankle beeped a half hour warning. He dropped his gaze to stare at it, studying it like it was only a mild inconvenience instead of a crippling chain. Nicky had managed to scrounge together enough money to pay his bail. His actual freedom would come at a steeper price. 

His phone vibrated on the concrete next to him and he let it ring itself down into silence. He didn’t have time to listen to Beth Mathley harass him about Neil. There was nothing she could say that he didn’t already know. 

The wind tore the smoke from his lips, crisp and stinging. There weren’t many options. He could go to West Virginia, but his tracker would ding the police station as soon as he crossed state borders. As Neil had so infuriatingly pointed out back in November, he was no good to anyone in jail. 

He blew smoke out of his nose. Sitting here and doing nothing wouldn’t help Neil. But going to West Virginia and getting arrested without finding Neil would be worse. 

He flipped the phone over. Three missed calls from Beth Mathley glowed on the tiny screen. She had gotten altogether too bold, which he reluctantly understood only because it was for Neil’s sake. He couldn’t exactly mock her for a stupidity that he shared. 

Gravel crunched behind him. 

Andrew whirled, nearly spinning right off the edge of the roof in the rush to stand. His stomach clenched as the drop swayed beneath his feet like rocking waves. 

A small figure stood silhouetted against the setting sun. Andrew’s hand went to the knife in his pocket reflexively as the brief flash of  _ something _ died in his chest before it took root. 

He said nothing, watching with blank eyes. His hand swung loose, flipping the blade out so it reflected the red sunlight. 

“I didn’t tell anyone where I was,” he said. 

“You’re eminently findable at the moment, I’m afraid,” Riko Moriyama said. His gaze dropped to Andrew’s blade, a smile quirking his lips. “I’m surprised there were no stab wounds reported.”

Andrew inhaled, counted to four, exhaled. Kept his face blank. There was no way a college athlete should have access to arrest reports, just as there was no way a college athlete should be able to follow a police tracking device. 

He bent his head to check the blade, running his thumb along the edge. It was clean; he hadn’t even thought to draw it the other night. Roland had pocketed it for him before the police could see. 

Shrugging as if it was all inconsequential, he snapped the blade closed, lighting up a new cigarette. He took a long drag, studying Riko Moriyama. “Can I help you with something?”

“I was thinking we could help each other,” Riko said, unperturbed. “I have an offer for you.”

“I’ve made my opinion on the matter quite clear.”

“Things have changed.” Riko waved his hand towards Andrew’s manacled ankle. “ _ That _ changes things.”

“Does it?” Andrew said baldly.

Riko smiled like he could see straight through to the starving beast digging claws into his internal organs. “It can go away. There’s no reason we can’t have an…arrangement.”

“You’ll buy off the judge, you mean.”

“We can certainly massage the process. It could be quite painless.”

“Not interested.”

“No? Not even if I were to throw a certain, ah,  _ mutual friend _ into the bargain?” Riko’s eyes glowed with a hungry gleam, the amiable mask wearing away.

Andrew’s cigarette twisted as his fingers clenched. He tossed it aside, keeping his gaze flat, lying with his face and his body and his tongue. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t play games,” Riko said, the first hint of sourness tugging at the corner of his mouth. Andrew wasn’t following his script. “ _Neil_ _Josten._ The one that paid you to take care of Dylan Reaman.”

And it was that, out of everything, that finally made Andrew believe it. It was exactly the kind of lie Neil would fabricate out of some misbegotten urge to protect him. 

Andrew made a split-second decision. He shoved his hands into his pockets, curling his fingers over the familiar, comforting weight of his switchblade. “Who?”

Disgust twisted Riko’s face, the look of a spoiled child not accustomed to being denied. 

Andrew spoke before he could. “I am not selling myself to some egotistical child, no matter what you offer. Your bribes are worthless to me.”

Fury burned away the last vestiges of civility in Riko’s eyes and he lunged forward. Andrew yanked his switchblade out of his pocket and knocked his arm aside, pressing the blade into the soft flesh of Riko’s gut. 

Riko froze, eyes bulging with outrage. 

Andrew leaned in close, a cold smile turning his mouth up at the corner. “Go ahead,” he said. “Give me a reason.”

Riko’s nostrils flared. “You’re not a murderer yet,” he said. “You would not get away with it.”

_ You might be surprised what I’ve gotten away with _ **_,_ ** Andrew thought, but he kept that to himself. “Leave.”

Riko glared at him for a long moment before easing back out of range. “You will regret this,” he said.

“I don’t believe in regret,” Andrew said. 

Riko’s smile grew back, all menace now. “I wonder if Neil does,” he said.

Andrew’s breathing tightened for a second before he regained control.  _ Don’t you dare fucking touch him _ , he thought, vicious. 

He said nothing. There was no agreeing to Riko’s demands; going along with him wouldn’t reduce the punishment, only change the way it was meted out. 

He focussed on regulating his breathing, on staying blank, staying unreadable. It wasn’t usually this hard. He wanted to tear Riko limb from limb, dig Neil out of whatever hole he was hidden in and steal him away where no one could ever touch him again.

Riko’s smile lingered for a moment, then he climbed down the ladder and out of sight. 

Andrew swayed, fist clenching too tight on the switchblade, the metal carving lines into his palm. Neil was—

He heard the rev of an engine and followed it to the edge of the building, spotting a black car peeling away from a place on the street in front of the building. Neil never said that Riko was a gangster too, but it made sense. They’d been too young when they met for it to be obvious, but Riko had grown into his violent heritage just as Neil tried to outrun his. 

The ladder creaked under his feet as he made his way down into the building. The halls felt musty and hollow in a way they never had before, back when they’d been haunted by an actual runaway and not merely his ghost. Andrew descended the stairs and stopped in the middle of the sparring circle, eyeing the room.

It was glaringly obvious that someone had been squatting here, from the tangled nest of blankets and insulation to the faint but clear path out the door where feet had worn the dirt away. Riko’s passage had kicked up sawdust, glimmering motes shining in the golden evening sun. 

Everywhere was evidence of Neil’s presence. His fingerprints were on the windows, the doors, the mouldering jar of peanut butter he’d never bothered to throw away. Evidence that would tie him, quite inextricably, to Andrew. 

He crossed to the nest of blankets, ragged and stained with the most damning evidence of all. He didn’t particularly care if they linked him to Neil, not for his own sake, but he knew strategically it was better if no one knew. If they assumed he and Neil were strangers, they couldn’t use him against Neil. 

He bent and rearranged the blankets, pulling a few stray bits of wood over the nest. The blanket resisted the flame of his lighter at first, too damp and mouldy to properly burn, but Andrew was persistent. 

The little pile went up in a plume of brackish grey smoke. Andrew took a couple steps back, making sure that the fire was good and caught. The smoke swirled poisonously, a toxic fugue of dereliction and neglect. 

He left without a backwards glance. The building leaked smoke like a poorly sealed oven, windows and cracked walls spilling outwards. He strode away, pulling his car keys from his pocket. The headlights blinked in response.

He dropped into the front seat and flipped his phone open, dialling Beth’s number as he started the engine. She picked up on the first ring. 

“What happened?” she demanded. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, and your face is all over the news, and I still haven’t heard anything from Neil—”

“He’s alive,” Andrew said. 

Beth cut off in the middle of what was gearing up to be quite an impressive rant. For a second there was nothing but the sound of the engine as Andrew pulled out onto the street. “Really?”

Andrew swerved onto the main road and didn’t answer; he wouldn’t repeat himself. 

“Where is he?”

“West Virginia.”

“So it was Riko. What does he want with Neil?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew answered, honestly. 

“What do we do next?”

“ _ We _ don’t do anything. I can’t leave the state, and you’re not capable of helping.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can you pick locks?”

“Well—”

“Have you ever broken into anything? Do you know how to fight?”

“No, but—”

“There is nothing you can do.”

“There has to be  _ something _ ,” Beth said. “Andrew, what is going on? Why is Neil missing? And what the hell does a university sports team have to do with anything?”

Andrew paused to consider the question. He had theories, yes, but he also had secrets that didn’t belong to him. “I can’t tell you,” he said. 

“Why not?” she snapped.

“I promised Neil I wouldn’t.”

She blew out a gust of air. “Look, I know that privacy is important, and I’m the last person who would tell you to break that promise, but if he’s in danger don’t you think I need to know?”

“If you know, it may put him in more danger.”

There was a strained silence on the other end of the line, punctuated by tiny, choked breaths. Andrew wondered if Beth was crying, and nearly hung up. 

“You’ll tell me if you hear anything, right? If there’s anything,” she said.

Ideally, no. They’d found out where Neil was; this should be the point where they parted ways. But she’d been the one who figured out who took Neil, and she’d been important to him. And it could be useful, to have an ally who wasn’t tarnished by his reputation. 

“Yes,” he said, and, because he did not need either her gratitude or her reproach, hung up.

There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway when he got home, which meant Erik had finally arrived. Andrew’s tracker beeped urgently, lights flashing as he parked along the street. It settled down once he strode up the driveway, content to have him back under house arrest for the night. 

He unlocked the front door and let himself in, following the smell of cooking into the kitchen. 

Nicky sat at the rarely-used dining room table, a small space cleared of the usual detritus so that he could eat. One of his hands was in a splint, and his face was blackened down one side, still swollen. The worst damage was out of sight, Andrew knew, vicious bruises hidden under his too-large sweatshirt. 

The owner of the sweatshirt stood over the stove, stirring a big pot of something that smelled flavourful, even to Andrew’s nicotine-numbed senses. Erik waved, not stopping the motion of his spoon. “Hey Aaron,” he said. 

“Wrong twin,” Andrew said, crossing to the fridge and pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk. 

“Oh, sorry, Andrew. I didn’t see your—uh,” a frown creased his golden forehead, and he addressed Nicky in rapid-fire German, too quick for Andrew to decipher. “Sleeves?” he asked, accent thick and not quite certain. 

Andrew settled at the counter, jerking his chin towards the pot on the stove. “How long?”

“You could at least say thank you,” Nicky muttered, wincing as if his jaw hurt from speaking. 

Andrew gave him a flat stare. Erik frowned in disapproval, but he just said, “Five minutes.”

“You cut it kinda close,” Nicky said. “Aren’t you supposed to be home by nine?”

“I was.”

“Barely. What if traffic had been bad? Waterhouse is already worried about your priors—”

“I know what the lawyer thinks.”

Nicky fretted, pushing himself to his feet. Erik tried to wave him down, but Nicky limped gingerly over to Andrew, distressed and oddly…guarded? Grateful? Andrew couldn’t tell. 

He ignored him, taking a pull of his chocolate milk. How Nicky came to terms with what Andrew had done for him wasn’t his concern. Nicky was alive; his mental health was Erik’s problem. 

“Andrew, talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

Chocolate milk wasn’t strong enough for this. Andrew heaved himself off the stool and dragged a chair over to the fridge so he could raid Nicky’s liquor store in the cupboard above. He dug out a bottle of vodka and stepped down, pouring a generous amount into his glass.

Nicky made a frustrated noise and grabbed the bottle when he put it down, capping it and trying to reach up and return it to the shelf. He barely got the bottle halfway above his head before he gasped, clutching his side. The bottle slipped from his fingers, shattering on the tile floor.

Erik dropped the wooden spoon and was at Nicky’s side in an instant, pulling him away from the broken glass. 

“I’m sorry,” Nicky said. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Shh,” Erik said, murmuring soothing words into Nicky’s hair. “It’s alright.”

Tears filled Nicky’s eyes, spilling over. “It’s not alright! Nothing is alright! God, Andrew, how can you just sit there? And where is Neil?”

Andrew took a sip of his drink and grimaced a little. Chocolate milk and vodka were good on their own, but he did not like them together. His eyes slipped down to the mess of glass and alcohol on the floor. It was the bottle Nicky got Neil for his birthday, he noted. How appropriate. 

“Seriously? Are we just not going to talk about any of this? Neil’s been gone for a week and honestly I’m freaking out here—”

“Who?” Andrew asked, dragging his gaze up to impale Nicky. 

“What?” Nicky pulled free of Erik’s arms. “ _ What? _ ”

Erik tugged Nicky’s sleeve unhappily, trying to divert him. Andrew waved his glass towards the pot on the stove. “It’s burning,” he said. 

Erik cursed and grabbed the spoon, giving the thick stew a twirl to keep the bottom from turning to charcoal. 

“What the hell, Andrew?” Nicky demanded. “Where’s Neil?”

“There is no Neil.”

“Yeah, there kind of is,” Nicky said. “Why are you being so—”

Andrew snapped. Riko’s taunts echoed in his mind, the cold, bitter weight of his failure igniting in his stomach. His knife was in his hand before he knew it, and he spun, slamming Nicky into the wall.

Nicky gasped in pain, eyes wide and terrified. Erik shouted something in furious German. Andrew’s breath seared his lungs, like he was breathing in flame. 

“Let go of him!” Erik snarled. Andrew ignored him, leaning in close enough for his burning breath to touch Nicky’s ear. 

“There is no Neil, understand?” he growled. Nicky’s skin folded under the weight of his blade, not quite breaking. “There never was.”

He released Nicky, abruptly disgusted with the feeling of his body heat under Andrew’s hands. He slid down the wall into a pathetic heap, sobs tearing through him like bullet wounds. 

Erik was beside him in a heartbeat, cradling him against his chest. “You monster,” he hissed, glaring poison at Andrew. “After everything he gave up for you—you ungrateful, horrible—”

Andrew pointed his knife at Erik in warning and turned, striding out of the kitchen without a backwards glance. Aaron stood in the hall, his usual bland disgust broken wide open with shock. 

Andrew brushed past him, throwing open the front door and clenching his fists, rage still white-hot and blinding in his chest. He fumbled his cigarettes out, but the pack was empty. He’d burnt it all away, only a short, half-burnt stub in one pocket.

He lit it, despite the fact his blood was probably so saturated it would only bleed back out. The acrid taste of pre-burned cigarette fouled his mouth before he drew past it. 

Erik wasn’t going to forgive him, he knew. Nicky might even leave, follow him back to Germany despite their scholarships.  _ Fine _ , he thought, vicious. He’d probably be safer there anyway. 

Fury deflated in his chest, leaving only the hollow, wasting feeling he was familiar with. He was going to lose them. His hands trembled on the stub of the cigarette. It scorched his fingers and he crushed it out, blind to the orange-pink glow of the sunset. 

A different voice whispered in his mind, soft and barely audible. 

Neil was alive.

Something inside him that he’d thought long dead stirred, raising its head and sniffing the air like a wounded beast. He crushed it like the cigarette, pushing it down so deep it should drown there. 

He could still feel it, though. Breathing. 

_ Neil was alive.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading <3 you can find me on tumblr at [writingpuddle](https://writingpuddle.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless someone can give me a very compelling argument as to how it works, im going to ignore the Raven sixteen hour days because??? How do these people go to classes??? What?
> 
> warnings for riko being a dick, what else is new.

The treadmill hummed as Neil started it up, lights blinking into awareness. Jean settled onto the bench behind him, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall.

Neil studied his new “partner” in the mirror lining the whole length of the gym. In the dim light, the tattooed three on his cheek was nearly invisible. _Perfect Court._

Neil still didn’t know what to make of him. He slowly began increasing the speed, his body protesting as he did so. The road rash that stretched from his thigh all the way up to his shoulder stung and cracked where his skin had been peeled off in swaths. His head and neck still ached from whiplash.

The skin on his forearm looked weird and pale in the mirror. His fractured bones jolted with pain as Neil sped up into a shambling jog. The doctor had cut his cast off this morning, but he hadn’t cleared him for more than gentle exercise yet. It had taken three hours to bully Jean into bringing him here at all.

His breath came tight and fast despite his slow pace. There were no windows in the Nest; he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks. He couldn’t even be sure it was daytime now. Pain shot through his lungs, sending ripples through his entire body.

He dropped back down into a walk, gasping and cradling his arm against his chest.

“Finished already?” Jean mocked. “You are more pathetic than I had anticipated.”

“Shut up,” Neil snapped.

“You have a year to prove your worth to the court. You cannot afford weakness.”

Neil wasn’t going to be here for a year. Once he found where Riko was hiding his binder, he was getting out of this place. He didn’t say that aloud, though, just stretched out his legs and tried to control his pounding heart rate.

He managed to find a rhythm of walking and jogging that allowed him to keep at it for nearly half an hour before his body finally quit on him. He shut the treadmill down and sat down heavily on the floor, sweat dripping down his forehead and stinging his eyes.

“Get up,” Jean said. “We need to go to the dining hall soon.”

Neil nodded but couldn’t make his legs cooperate. Jean watched him struggle for a long moment before huffing impatiently and crouching, hooking Neil’s good arm over his shoulder and hauling him to his feet. Neil grit his teeth, his ragged breath cutting his throat open.

Jean guided him to the door and left him leaning against the wall, fetching a water bottle from beside the bench. He passed it to Neil and he drank gratefully, resting his aching skull against the cool wall.

He followed Jean into the hall, keeping one hand pressed against the wall for balance. The hallways were uniform black, only red accents here and there to break up the gloom. It felt like a cave. Neil didn’t know how the Ravens could stand it. Most of them were here voluntarily, scholarship students just like the cousins. Somehow Riko and the Master had bent them to their purpose, making them proud of their brutal lifestyle rather than repulsed by it.

They passed a locked door, its red panelling bloody and forbidding. It was one of only a few red doors, and Neil suspected it, like the others, led to the outside. He couldn’t be sure; he’d been unconscious when they first brought him here.

Jean let them into their shared room, the black walls looming over them, close and claustrophobic. “Take off your shirt,” he ordered.

Neil shot him a disgusted look.

“You can’t bathe yet,” Jean said. “Would you rather I called the nurse?”

Neil scowled and pushed open their bathroom door. Jean followed, indifferent to Neil’s mood.

Neil leaned against the sink, trying not to look at the blue-eyed boy reflected in the mirror. Jean fetched a towel, holding a hand under the stream of water until it ran warm. He wet the towel and held it up in clear offer.

Neil grit his teeth and peeled his soaked shirt over his head, biting down on a wince as it pulled at the scabs and stitches crowding up his side. Jean didn’t react to the mess of wounds—both fresh and scarred—covering Neil’s torso, merely wiped him down with dispassionate eyes.

The towel scraped along Neil’s side, feeling rough as sandpaper against the sensitive skin. Jean nodded and gestured to Neil’s shorts.

“No,” Neil said, pulling away and crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

“If you don’t wash, you will get a rash,” Jean said, matter-of-fact.

“I don’t care,” Neil said. “Get out.”

Jean lingered for a moment before he shrugged, dropping the towel in the sink and closing the door behind him.

Neil sagged, resting his forehead against the mirror. He caught the flash of blue in the mirror as he opened his eyes. He drew back, meeting his reflection’s gaze.

For once, he appreciated the hateful blue, a reminder of the unbreakable man he’d come from. He’d need that strength, if he was going to survive this place.

He stripped his shorts off and sponged himself clean with the towel, wincing as the twisting required yanked on a dozen small wounds. When he cracked the door open again Jean had left a small stack of clothing in front of the door. All black and red. Neil curled his lip, but drew the clothes inside and dressed carefully in soft sweatpants and a red long-sleeve shirt.

Jean cast a cursory eye over him when he emerged, and seemed to judge him acceptable. Neil trailed him out the door and down the hallway to the dining room.

A hush fell over the rest of the Ravens as they entered, two dozen pairs of curious eyes dissecting Neil. He kept his head forward and followed Jean to a separate table. Servers descended on them in seconds, placing trays of food in front of them and a small cup of painkillers for Neil.

Neil left his broken arm lying in his lap as he struggled to scrape up his rice and vegetables with his left hand. Jean didn’t offer to help, this time.

He was barely halfway through his meal when Riko swept in, Kevin at his heels. The Ravens instantly sat up straighter, vying for his attention. Neil slouched further over his tray, taking a deep glug of water.

Riko’s eyes passed over his team and settled on Neil, a broad grin growing on his face.

“Nathaniel!” he said. “Do you know what day it is?”

“No,” Neil said flatly.

Riko loomed over him, shadow crossing the table. “Everyone, come along. There’s something you should see.”

Neil didn’t budge. “I’m not finished,” he said, spearing a bit of chicken.

Jean stiffened, gesturing frantically at Neil in clear warning. Neil ignored him. Chairs scraped the ground as the rest of the team got to their feet, murmuring in a sulfurous hush.

Fingers dug into the back of his neck, yanking his head back. Neil glared up at Riko, unapologetic. His grin dimmed, twisting into something foul and controlling. “You will do as you’re told,” he hissed.

“Or what?” Neil said.

Riko snarled and slammed his head forward into his plate. Red spiked behind his eyes, pain shooting through his skull. Riko held him down for a long moment, grinding his face into the mess of his meal, before releasing him.

Neil pinched his eyes shut. His breath hissed through clenched teeth as he sat up, head pounding. Iron stung his lips as blood trickled down from his nose. He wiped his face, slow and deliberate.

Hands pulled at his wrists and Neil wrenched away. Jean stood beside him, holding out a napkin. His eyes were eloquent and reproachful.

Neil checked over his shoulder, but Riko had already strode out, trusting his minions to shepherd Neil where he was needed. He wiped the worst of the mess from his face, though he could feel it gumming up in his hair and he grimaced at the prospect of washing his hair in the sink again.

“Why do you insist on provoking him?” Jean said, pushing Neil’s shoulder to try and get him moving. Neil yanked out of reach, prodding his nose. It smarted, but didn’t seem broken.

“Your cowardice helps no-one,” he said, spitting a bloody gob into the napkin.

“Get up,” Jean said. “I suspect you will wish to see this, regardless.”

Neil’s chest tightened. It was about Andrew, then. He kept his face indifferent, rising to his feet. He’d kept to his story, insisted he and Andrew were strangers. It was the only way to keep him safe.

That hadn’t stopped Riko from taunting him with the news every chance he got. Neil followed Jean into the common room, a long room with black couches accented by red pillows. A few pool tables stood at one end.

The team had gathered in front of one of the televisions, seated in a complex but rigid hierarchy. Jean dragged Neil over to the group, shoving him down to the floor in front of Riko and sitting beside him. Neil tipped his head, studying him. He was Perfect Court: above the rest of the Ravens, yet simultaneously less than any of them.

Riko leaned forward, digging his fingers into Neil’s hair and forcibly turning his head to face the television. A swarm of reporters stood in front of locked courtroom doors, a fast-talking woman in a blue dress leading her camera up the steps.

“The case has been getting a lot of attention in light of recent controversy over the Foxes unusual management strategies. Many Palmetto State University donors are concerned that their money is being spent on enabling criminals, while deserving young people are passed over for scholarship funding. Connor Milton, a consultant with Fox News, caught up with Palmetto’s Exy Coach, David Wymack, last Friday, to get this statement.”

She stared at the camera for a suspended moment before the techs caught up with her cue and switched. Coach Wymack looked out of place in a t-shirt and jeans, standing beside the orange panelled Foxhole Court. His expression was annoyed.

“We stand by our players, understand? Andrew’s welcome back here after the trial, and that’s that.”

“Has the school made any decisions regarding what will happen if he’s convicted?”

“It’s not going to happen. We knew Andrew’s history when we signed him, and we know he acted defensively. He’s going to walk straight out of that courtroom and back onto the court. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a team to coach.”

The image of Wymack turning away faded out and the clamour of voices overtook the screen. “We’ve got some activity at the doors,” the reporter said. “It looks like they’ve reached a verdict.”

The courtroom door opened and the gaggle of cameras lunged forward, swarming a man in a black suit. The woman in the blue dress managed to shove everyone aside, claiming a front-row seat for her viewers. The first couple words were lost in the hubbub.

“…it’s a lenient sentence really, but various parties have insisted that without his intervention Hemmick may not have survived. It’s all speculation, of course, but Minyard has agreed to two years of medication and mandatory therapy in order to avoid a prison sentence.”

“So there won’t be any jail time?” A reporter asked, thrusting a microphone into the prosecutor’s face.

“As long as he keeps to the terms. There will be frequent parole checks, urinalysis—”

Whatever else the lawyer might have said was immediately forgotten as a small group pushed out of the door. The twins were dressed identically in black suits, but Neil knew instantly which one was Andrew. His lawyer tried to push the cameras aside, but it was Andrew who made it through by pure force of will. The reporters didn’t get a word out of him.

They managed to corner Nicky, though. “Mr. Hemmick, you were the one Minyard was defending during the barfight. Do you have any comments on the sentencing?”

“It’s absolute bull—”

Andrew’s lawyer stopped him before could swear on television. “It’s not fair,” Nicky amended, “He hasn’t been in any fights in ages.”

“So, you don’t think his actions were excessive?”

“He did what he thought he had to.”

“But would a reasonable person have thought it was necessary?”

“He didn’t start it! He had no choice but to respond.”

“So, you believe the sentence is too harsh? Despite his record?”

“It’s not fair,” Nicky said stubbornly, “He was getting better.”

Neil kept his head forward, but he didn’t see any more of the broadcast. Relief and outrage curdled together in his gut. Andrew had been protecting Nicky; there shouldn’t be a conviction at all.

Considering Riko’s sly remarks, though, Neil couldn’t help but think that it could’ve been much worse.

“Aren’t you glad he refused to sign, now?” Riko asked. Neil twisted to look up at him, but he was addressing Kevin.

“We could’ve brought him to heel,” Kevin said, staring straight ahead. “It is irrelevant, now.”

Riko laughed, a cruel sound. “Change out. It’s time for practice.”

The Ravens dispersed as quickly as they had assembled. Neil got to his feet slowly, his legs trembling from his ill-advised run earlier.

“You’ll be practicing with us soon,” Riko said, leaning back on the couch and surveying Neil with predatory eyes. “Now that your cast is off.”

“That’s not actually how broken bones work,” Neil said. “Trust me, it’s not my first.”

“You’ll practice when I say you do.”

Neil shrugged like the prospect of ruining his body permanently wasn’t petrifying. “You really have an inflated sense of your own authority, don’t you?”

Riko’s hand shot out, grabbing Neil’s forearm and yanking. The air hissed out of Neil’s teeth as pain shot through his arm, up to his elbow. “You will learn your place,” Riko growled. “One way or another.”

Neil jerked out of Riko’s grasp. “If you make me play before it’s healed, it’ll never recover. Even your ego can’t command bones to heal.”

Jean made a pained noise behind him as Riko lurched to his feet. Neil turned his back on Riko as if he didn’t know he was signing his own death warrant.

“Go to practice,” Neil said to Jean, and he only paused for a second before he fled down the hallway.

“You will regret speaking to me like that,” Riko hissed, an inch behind Neil’s ear. He inhaled sharply, tense, but didn’t turn to look at him.

“You say that a lot,” Neil said. “It’s getting old.”

Riko shoved him and he stumbled forward, prepared for another blow.

“Riko!”

Neil turned, hunching his shoulders defensively, but Riko was distracted. Tetsuji strode towards them, his cane thumping against the carpeted floor.

“You will be late,” the Master said, cold.

“I _—_ ”

“He is no good to us if you break him now.”

Riko glared at the floor at Tetsuji’s feet, not daring to contradict him. “He is insolent.”

“I will deal with him. Go.”

Riko’s jaw clenched, but he did as he was told. Neil stood where he was, fixing his gaze on Tetsuji’s collar.

The Master regarded him for a long moment, his lip curled in ever-so-slight distaste. “Come,” he ordered.

Neil exhaled as Tetsuji turned away. A tremor went through him, like he’d been holding his breath for too long.

He swayed for a moment, before forcing himself to follow Tetsuji out to the court. He sat a few feet away, watching as the Ravens trickled onto the court one by one. Tetsuji dropped a notebook into his lap wordlessly. He’d been forced to watch them for weeks at this point; he knew the drill.

The Ravens were something else, Neil though reluctantly as they went  through their exercises. The players ran through a series of drills involving cones and ricochets, their shots rebounding with electrifying power and precision.

He wanted it for himself.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the nauseating wave of want. He couldn’t have it; he knew that.

He turned to his notebook and sketched out a brief summary of the drill before listing the players numbers, noting who was struggling with the drill and who was excelling. If he stayed, they’d train him, too. He could be great.

He would just have to give up his soul. The thought almost punched a bitter laugh through his teeth. His soul was a fractured, brittle thing, but it was the only thing left that belonged to him. Riko couldn’t have this.

He waited late into the night, until Jean was snoring deeply and unconsciously, before peeling back his blankets and ghosting out of the room. The door clicked closed, soft and nearly soundless in the blanketing dark.

The hallways were half-lit, the few glowing lights making pools of visibility that felt somehow smaller than they should be, like the blackness was creeping in. Neil bypassed the red door, making for the court. The door was probably alarmed, anyway.

He crept through the warren of rooms until he reached the foyer. A massive glass cabinet dominated one side, the championship trophy sitting smugly and comfortably inside. It glowed softly in the dim light.

Neil stared at it for a moment, longing overtaking him. This could’ve been his life.

He turned away, kneeling to pick the lock to Coach Moriyama’s office. The bobby pins he’d swiped from one of the girls after practice made poor lockpicks, but he made do.

The office was as strictly organized as the team it commanded. Neil went through the drawers of the desk without much hope before turning to the locked filing cabinet against the wall.

His picks scraped at the flimsy lock. His right hand was aching with tiredness by the time he got it open. He flipped through the files it contained cursorily, a frown pinching his forehead. There were character sheets for all of the Ravens, but he didn’t think files were supposed to be this detailed. There were damning photographs, articles from childhood incidents, notes on vulnerable family members, all piled on top of the usual stats and transcripts.

Neil wondered if the Ravens were aware of these files or if they were a fallback option. Probably a bit of both, he decided. He got to work on the next drawer.

“Looking for this?”

Neil nearly fell over as he whipped around, flinching backwards into the filing cabinet. Riko smiled, wide and amused. He held Neil’s binder up in one hand, turning it this way and that to catch the dim light.

A possessive spike went through Neil. “Give me that,” he snarled.

Riko held up a scolding finger. “Manners, Nathaniel. Is that how your mother raised you?”

Neil skirted the desk, eyes darting side to side. There was only one exit, and Riko had it blocked. “I must’ve missed the class on gangster rejects,” he shot back.

Riko’s expression twisted for an instant before he forcibly smoothed it, pulling his sickening grin back on. He shrugged. “You brought this upon yourself,” he said, and pulled a lighter out of his pocket.

Neil lunged forward, but Riko dodged easily, holding the flame to the corner of the binder. The plastic smoked and twisted, the paper within flaring.

Riko dropped the binder into the garbage bin, kicking it into the foyer. “No!” Neil shouted, diving for the open door.

Riko caught his wrist and twisted it. Neil cried out and collapsed onto his knees. His arm wrenched up behind him and he choked back a scream. His binder blazed, the shape curling and warping as the flames ate their way through it.

The fire alarms caught on a second later and sprinklers went off, soaking the room in a fine mist. The binder fizzled and spat, the flame sinking lower and lower until it faded out. Neil heaved for air. _Gone, all gone—_

Riko released him and he slumped to the floor, all the fight knocked out of him. Despair ate through him like a corrosive. His binder sagged, a soggy, charred mess in the garbage bin.

A foot drove into his ribcage and he fell sideways, barely feeling it. Riko kicked him again, twice, and a pathetic whine twisted free of Neil’s lungs. He cradled his partially-healed arm against his chest, curling into a protective knot on the ground.

“You brought this on yourself,” Riko said, kneeling down and tipping Neil’s head up with his chin. “I told you that you needed to learn your place.”

He swiped his thumb across Neil’s cheek, and it came away damp with tears. “That’s alright,” Riko said, smiling. “You have plenty of time to learn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything in this story is getting set on fire. theres a metaphor in there, somewhere. 
> 
> <3<3<3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil is back on his bullshit, andrew is coping (poorly) and kevin gets one (1) redemption point
> 
> warnings for drug and alcohol use, implied physical abuse, non-graphic descriptions of injuries and gratuitous use of POV switches.

“I’m concerned about the dosage,” Betsy Dobson said, tapping her pen. Her face was calm—serene, even—but Andrew could see the spark of anger, buried deep. “Your first therapist didn’t account for your metabolism. Your body is processing the medication too fast, and you’re crashing before your next dose.”

“This is not news to me,” Andrew informed her, bouncing on his feet. Manic energy buzzed through him like electricity.

“The transfer and the court order complicate things,” she said. “Ideally, I would change your dosage immediately, but I need to go through your lawyer to make sure the conditions of your conviction are upheld. It may be as much as two weeks before I can officially lower your dose.”

“Officially?” Andrew asked, dragging his hand across her desk and disrupting the neatly arranged pens as he paced, unable to hold still. He stopped in front of a shelf containing four small glass figurines, shimmering and reflecting the light. “That sounds awfully unprofessional of you, Bee. What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Only that those pills break in half rather easily.”

“Must be hard to be a shrink with a heart of gold,” Andrew said, grinning, picking up one of the figurines. “Following those court orders must really grate on that unfortunate conscience of yours.”

“I want the best for my clients,” Bee said evenly. Andrew laughed, turning the glass cat over in his hand. It sparkled, prismatic rainbows dancing off his fingers, like if he was a little faster he could snare them.

He pinched the tail and twisted. The fragile figurine snapped easily, smooth lines shattering into jagged shards. He dropped it to the floor where it clinked, soft as a bell.

A laugh tore his face open. He brought his heel down on the little cat, crushing it beneath his boot. Dissatisfaction curled his lip and he picked up a whale statue, glancing over at Dr. Dobson. 

“What?” he taunted. “Not going to stop me?”

She gazed back, unruffled. “Seems like maybe what you need right now is to break something.”

Andrew dropped the whale back onto its shelf. “Oh Bee, don’t you know? I don’t need anything.”

“Now that’s patently untrue,” she said. “You need food, water, shelter—"

“Don’t play word games with me,” Andrew said, throwing himself down on the couch and draping his arm over his face. The weight of Renee’s blades in his armbands drew a smile out of him.

“Hm,” Bee said, making a note. “How are you settling in with your new teammates?”

“They’re tedious busybodies, the lot of them. Walker might be useful.”

“That’s an interesting choice of words. Why useful?”

Because he was facing up to something much bigger than him, and there would be collateral damage before this was through. Because Neil was locked up somewhere with a man who smiled like he was watching an ant die under a magnifying glass. Because his emotions were too tangled to make sense of, and Walker had a conveniently clear head.

“Nicky isn’t going back to Germany,” he said instead.

Dobson took his capriciousness in stride. “He isn’t,” she agreed. “Did you think he was going to?”

“His boyfriend wanted him to.”

“Why was that?”

Toxic laughter bubbled up in Andrew’s throat. “Isn’t it obvious? He doesn’t want Nicky anywhere near _this_.”

His gesture encompassed his whole self.

“But Nicky decided to stay. What do you think of that?”

He dropped his arm, drumming his fingers against his thigh in agitation. Nicky hadn’t meant for him to overhear, but his German was better than Nicky credited him for.

_They’re my family. I love them, Erik. I can’t leave. I’m the only one that loves them._

“I don’t want to talk about Nicky,” he decided.

\---

Eyes stuck to Neil’s skin as he peeled his t-shirt off, back turned to the Raven changeroom. He pulled his gear on, trying to look unhurried. Only Jean was completely uninterested in Neil’s fucked up torso; the rest of the Raven’s were curious, like sharks scenting blood in the water.

Neil wrenched his black jersey over his head. The number four was emblazoned across his chest like a bloodstain. He smoothed it down over his armour and wrapped a black headband around his forehead to keep his hair back. Never let it be said that the Ravens didn’t stick to a theme.

He strolled out into the court waiting room, Jean trailing after him.

“Ready to show us what you’re made of, rookie?” one of the senior strikers, Jenkins, called.

Neil shrugged. No, but he wasn’t going to be any time soon.

Jenkins laughed. “Can’t wait to see what it takes to get number four,” she said, tone snide. 

“Just think,” Neil said, sending her a huge grin. “However shitty I am, I still got promoted before you.”

Her expression went ugly and she lunged towards him. Muldani barely managed to get a hold of her in time to stop her from grabbing for Neil’s throat.

“Cool it, Jenkins,” Muldani said, levering the smaller girl back as if she didn’t weigh anything. Neil set his shoulders and strode out of the room, keeping his gaze fixed ahead of him.

“It would be easier if you didn’t provoke them,” Jean said, keeping pace at his side.

“They’re going to hate me anyway,” Neil said. “I don’t see any point in sucking up.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jean murmured. He grabbed his racquet out of the line up and passed a short, worn out one to Neil.

“What, don’t I get a new racquet?”

“You will earn that right when you can actually stop a goal. When was the last time you played backliner?”

“It’s been a while,” Neil admitted, following Jean onto the court.

He paused in the entryway. Edgar Allan Stadium was… _incredible_. It was massive and polished by the sponsorship money of a spotless winning streak. The floor was scrubbed every night and the plexiglass walls didn’t show a single smudge.

Light flashed behind his eyelids, the reflections of a different court. He closed his eyes and breathed, imagining he was back there, in the one place that had ever felt like home. His fingers tightened on the grip of his racquet. For a moment it almost felt like he could open his eyes and Andrew would be waiting in the goal, impatient and immovable.

Someone shoved him, knocking his shoulder aside. “Move it, rookie.”

Neil’s throat clenched in involuntary grief. He trudged out to the centre of the court, swallowing down his treacherous emotions.

Riko and Kevin took them through a series of warm up exercises, running and jumping and stretching until the Master called a halt.

“Scrimmage,” he ordered.

Neil cut a sharp glance towards him. It was a deviation from the regular order of practices; Neil had watched enough now to know how it usually went.

As Riko split them into teams, lining Neil and Jean up on the first-fourth line as the defenders, he understood. It was Neil’s first practice. The Ravens wanted to see their newest member in action.

Riko sent Kevin to the opposite side of the court, facing Jean, and took his place in front of Neil, grinning widely. “How does it feel squaring up against the best striker in the league?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said. “Why don’t you ask Jean?”

The whistle blew as Riko’s face melted into fury. Neil didn’t have a chance to flinch before Riko crashed into him, ignoring the ball.

Neil hit the ground in a crunch. Riko’s feet pounded past him.

By the time he managed to stand, Riko had already scored. The Ravens exchanged glances, cruel grins curling their lips.

Neil reset into his starting position and lifted his racquet, blocking out the ringing in his ears. This was Exy. He could do this.

\---

The lights flashed and bodies pulsed as Eden’s Twilight swelled to bursting. Andrew tapped his fingers against his glass in the off beats, studying Matthew Boyd.

He was a shivery, spineless thing, fidgeting and hunched. Wilds had been strong, but harmless. Walker had been interesting.

Boyd was a problem. He was unique among the team’s addicts in that he was still trying to stay sober. He was also, based on Andrew’s estimate, right at the brink of a catastrophic relapse.

Randy Boyd agreed with him. The relapse was inevitable; it might as well happen tonight.

Nicky’s eyes darted towards Andrew, smile frozen on his lips. Andrew tapped his fingers, restless energy burning in his blood. He could feel his own crash coming, withdrawal tugging on his bones. He tossed another shot back, the light sparkling off the harsh liquid, and held his hand out to Nicky impatiently.

A flash of resignation crossed Nicky’s face, only visible if you knew him well. He dug through his pockets and dumped a couple packets into Andrew’s hand.

“What’s that?” Boyd said, tensing, eyes wide.

“Cracker dust,” Andrew said, ripping open a packet. “Want some?”

He smiled, his face aching from the unnatural motion. Matt shrunk, the naked desire in his eyes making a residual laugh claw its way out of Andrew’s throat. He shrugged and poured the dust down his gullet. It sparked on his tongue, fading in seconds. He grimaced and tore open a second one.

“Come on,” Nicky was saying. “It’s just dust. It’s totally harmless. Even Aaron does it.”

“Fuck off,” Aaron muttered.

“Careful, Nicky,” Andrew said. “Wouldn’t want to tempt poor Matt, would we?”

“I’m fine,” Matt said, grabbing his beer and taking a hasty swig. “So, why’d you guys invite me out here anyway?”

“Just getting to know each other,” Andrew said, gesturing grandly. “Out here in the wild, no interference.”

“Do you want to talk about stuff? Renee said you guys talked about her past—”

“I know everything I need to know about you, Matthew Boyd,” Andrew said, lounging on his stool. “Sure you won’t dust with us?”

Matt swallowed hard, staring at the floor, hopelessly resolute. Andrew leaned forward until he could peer up at Matt’s unhappy face. He smiled, wide and insincere.

“Or maybe you’d prefer something stronger?”

\---

Scabs cracked and oozed on Neil’s back as he hunkered down in the shadows, watching the security guards pace. Air whistled through his swollen and bruised nose, stinging the inside of his sinuses.

The cold night air numbed his burning skin like an anaesthetic. His lungs ached from the relief of being outside, tasting air that hadn’t come to him through a ventilation shaft for the first time in months.

Unless he could get past the guards, though, he wouldn’t be tasting it for long. He slipped out of the shadow of the entryway, ducking behind a line of bushes. The massive gates surrounding the parking lot stood black and pointed, like a row of spears.

Neil counted steps, licking his lips and breathing through his mouth to prevent the sound of his busted-up nose from betraying him. There was no shelter by the fence; he only had one shot. The nearest guard turned away and Neil ran forward in a hunch, feet whisper soft against the grass.

He grabbed one of the bars and heaved until he could reach the cross bar, pulling himself upwards. His shoulder blades stung as the cuts there broke open and he hissed in pain, swinging his leg up to hook the crossbar.

He bit his lip almost hard enough to break the skin as he squirmed over, the spikes snagging his sweatshirt and digging into his stomach. His shoulders nearly popped out of their sockets as he dropped, clinging to the bars to stop himself from hitting the ground with a thud.

Through the bars, he could see the bright lights of the parking lot and the surrounding grounds, the imposing figure of the stadium looming like a fortress behind it. He lowered his feet to the ground, slipping into the shadows like a wraith.

The streets surrounding the stadium doubled over themselves, leading back around into the university proper. Neil rolled his shoulders back, ignoring the pain, and walked purposefully away from the stadium. It was past midnight, but this area was largely university accommodation; he could hear music from a couple streets down, and he wasn’t the only person outside. The smell of marijuana tinted the air.

A pair of girls stumbled towards him, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders to keep upright.

“Excuse me,” Neil asked, shoving his hands in his pockets to look less threatening. “Is there anywhere nearby where I can get some food at this time of night?”

The shorter girl tittered, trying to flick her short hair out of her eyes and missing. “Seven-eleven should be open,” she said. “It’s just down—uh—Mandy which street--?”

“That way,” the other girl supplied, gesturing widely.

“Thanks,” Neil said, ducking around them and keeping an eye out for the bright lights of a corner store. After some searching, he found it, pushing the door open with a jangle of the bell.

The cashier squinted at him suspiciously, but didn’t move from her seat behind the till. Neil wandered up and down the small store, grabbing a water bottle, a few granola bars, and a map.

He paused as he approached the till, eyes drawn to a rack of postcards. He tapped his fingers against his thigh for a second before grabbing one blindly, dumping his items on the counter and pulling out Jenkin’s stolen credit card.

His mom had a contact in Pittsburgh, if he remembered correctly; he just had to get there.

How hard could it be?

\---

Andrew swung his racquet in aimless circles. Wilds was shouting about something, but he ignored her. She made a loud, frustrated sound and stomped away to rant at someone else.

A loud pounding on the court wall interrupted his swinging. Once Wymack was sure nobody was going to start lobbing the ball around, he swung the door open, leaning against the wall and holding up a pink postcard.

“Minyard, care to explain?” Wymack said, the direction of his gaze making it clear which Minyard he was referring to.

“It wasn’t me, it was my evil twin!” Andrew called. Aaron shot him a black look.

“What I’d like to know is how an asshole like you is already getting fanmail,” Wymack said.

“Fanmail?” Nicky gasped theatrically. “Andrew, who’s it from?”

Andrew swung his racquet around and rested it across his shoulders, hooking his wrists over it. Wymack studied him, a glint in his eye. The bastard suspected something was up; he wouldn’t be stopping practice otherwise.

Andrew shrugged and ambled over to Wymack. If nothing else, it got him out of Exy for a minute—not that he’d been doing much, anyway.

He dropped his racquet and plucked the postcard from Wymack’s hand. The front was a pink tinged image of three fluffy kittens cuddled together, _Wish You Were Here!_ written in sparkling cursive in one corner. He flipped it over. His name was printed neatly above the general delivery address for the stadium.

_Go Foxes!_

_—A_

A for Abram.

He leaned his head into his free hand, laughter bubbling up in his chest. He couldn’t help it. The sheer _absurdity._  He shook with barely repressed mirth, flipping the card over to stare again at the ridiculous image. Wymack raised an eyebrow, but Andrew didn’t explain. He wiped his eyes, chuckling, and shoved his hand in his pocket.

He flicked his lighter out before Wymack realized what was happening, setting the three kittens ablaze.

“Son of a—”

Andrew dropped the card onto the court floor, heedless of the damage the rising flames might make. Neil’s spiky handwriting crisped and blackened, vanishing in the time it took for Wymack to stomp it out.

“Minyard, you little shit—”

“Later, Coach,” Andrew said, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling away.

Wymack cursed, grabbing his shoulder. Andrew twisted out of his grip, a knife already in his hand.

“What the hell was that?” Wymack demanded.

“That’s above your pay grade,” Andrew said, and strode out of the stadium without a backwards glance.

\---

The lights flared, wrenching Neil from sleep. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. His whole body ached, bruises blackening on top of bruises. He’d only gotten halfway to Pittsburgh before getting caught; Riko hadn’t been impressed.

“Get up.”

“Fuck you,” Neil mumbled. A hand grabbed his shoulder, hauling him upright.

He shoved Kevin off, hunching over in his blankets and glaring upwards through squinted eyes. Kevin glared right back, haughty and remorseless. “It’s the middle of the night,” Neil grumbled. He only got a few hours of uninterrupted sleep each night. This better be important. 

Kevin tossed a jersey at him. “Change out.”

Neil caught the shirt, perplexed and annoyed. “Why should I?”

Kevin’s jaw clenched. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I am trying to sleep,” Neil shot back. “It’s a thing that humans do at night. You may have heard of it.”

“You need to practice if you are going to improve.”

“We practice all day,” Neil said, flopping onto his bed and rolling so his back was to Kevin, determined to ignore him.

“The Master will take any excuse to fail you,” Kevin hissed. “You have less than a year to prove yourself, and you will not succeed alone.”

“You expect me to believe that you’re waking me up in the middle of the night to _help_ me?” Neil demanded, rolling back to glare at Kevin. Okay, he was shit at giving the silent treatment. He blamed the attitude problem.

“Yes,” Kevin said simply.

Jean shifted, drawing Neil’s eye. He was perched on the edge of his bed in his black pyjamas. A massive black eye darkened half of his face, matching the ones Neil bore. Riko called it fair. Neil called it sadism.

“Go with him,” Jean said. “He’s right. Riko will destroy you if you do not improve.”

“What do either of you care?”

Kevin stared at Neil for a long, fathomless moment. “You could be Court,” he said. “If you survive.”

“I’m nothing,” Neil said, burying the wave of longing threatening to swamp him. The Nest was poison; these types of fantasies came with a price tag Neil wasn’t willing or able to pay.

“For now,” Kevin said. “I will not offer twice.”

He didn’t give Neil a chance to respond, just turned and strode out of the room. Neil’s fingers curled in the black and red jersey, his breathing twisting in his chest. Jean shook his head and got up to turn the light back off.

Neil looked down at the red letters spelling out his last name. JOSTEN. _Court._

“Fine,” he said, climbing out of bed. “I’m going.”

\---

A rising sense of unease bubbled in Andrew’s stomach as Aaron and Nicky disappeared into Eden’s writhing crowds. His stomach felt tight and clawed.

Probably just the withdrawal, he thought, leaning against the bar and tossing back another shot of whiskey. His lips still tingled from dust, but he couldn’t feel it. He was draining out, heaviness pooling in his limbs and dragging him towards the ground.

A fresh shot slid across the bar in front of him. “Hey,” Roland said. “We watched your game today before shift started. It’s bullshit that they never put you on.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew said.

Roland grinned, unperturbed. “Thought you’d say that. Don’t forget us when you get famous, alright?”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said without any heat.

“That’s the Andrew we all know and love.” Roland laughed. His head tilted, his smile changing. His eyes danced with a subtle question.

Andrew gave him a slow once over. His bartending shirt was form-fitting and dark, outlining a lightly muscled torso. He was a bit tall; Andrew didn’t like being loomed over. It was hard to avoid, though. There were few men close enough to his height that he’d had to deal with that particular aversion back in juvie. Neil was the first—

He cut off that line of thinking. Roland was still looking at him, curious and smiling and a little wicked.

“When’s your break?” he asked.

“I’ll check,” he said. “Hey, Elijah! You good if I take my break now?”

The man further down the bar waved his hand in an affirmative gesture, pouring three shots at once. Roland turned back to Andrew with a grin.

Andrew didn’t bother trying to make himself heard over the pounding of the bass. He downed the shot Roland had left for him and shoved away from the bar. He could feel Roland following him as he rounded the bar and pushed through the door marked Employee’s Only.

“In here,” Roland said, pushing open a storeroom. He locked it behind them, reaching out to slide his fingers into Andrew’s hair.

He caught Roland’s wrist. “Rule number one. You can’t touch me.”

Roland raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s going to make this kind of difficult.”

Andrew stepped into his space, tilting his head up. Roland wet his lips, the pink nub of his tongue just visible. His other hand tugged the front of Andrew’s shirt, and Andrew grabbed that too, pinning him back against the door. “You don’t have to do anything,” Andrew said. “Yes or no?”

“What?”

Andrew glared at him like he was being intentionally dim. “Do you want to do this, yes or no?”

“No, I came back here so I could hang out in a musty old storeroom—”

“Just answer the question,” Andrew said, through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, okay. Yeah, I want to—”

Andrew didn’t let him say anything else.

\---

“They’re going to get bumped down to Class II,” Jean said. “It would take a miracle to keep them in the league with their current performance.”

Neil grunted in agreement. He and Jean were tasked with watching all the games of the rival teams. It meant he got to keep a closer eye on Andrew and the cousins than he might have otherwise; then again, that may have been the point. Riko was ready to pounce at the first slip-up.

The Foxes were getting annihilated, though. That wasn’t opinion, it was simple fact. The way the ERC was leaning, Neil was pretty sure they’d need to make championships to stay in Class I.

On the television in front of them, the referee blew the whistle again. Danielle Wilds stabbed her finger at Seth Gordon’s chest, her reproach visible even without audio. He pushed back, and the referees had to separate the two before things got physical.

Coach Wymack took advantage of the foul to swap out a few of his players. Neil glanced back around at the common room. Kevin lurked near the door and Neil gave him a short nod. They’d warn him when Riko got back from classes; he had about half an hour to slip away with Thea.

Kevin fidgeted anxiously for a moment before fleeing down the hallway.

The announcer’s voice echoed from the television. “In a surprise move, the Foxes are fielding their rookie goalkeeper, Andrew Minyard, for the first time this year—”

Neil whipped around. Jean shot him a look. “Shut up,” Neil muttered, barely restraining himself from leaping forward and pressing his whole face against the screen. Andrew’s form looked tiny through the distant cameras as he took his spot in front of the goal.

Neil’s eyes stayed glued to the screen as Breckenridge’s dealer served the ball up the court. A short fight ensued, and the Jackal striker burst out of the scrum with the ball in his net. Neil went tense. The camera widened, showing Andrew standing in the goal, twirling his racquet like he wasn’t even watching.

The striker swung.

Andrew slammed the ball straight back at him. It ricocheted off his helmet with an audible crack. He stumbled backwards like a drunk, hand raised in shock.

The crowd was screaming a heady mix of outrage and exhilaration. Neil bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his face blank in case anyone was watching.

Internally, though, he was screaming alongside them.

\---

Andrew shoved Nicky’s back, making him stumble forward, shrieking with laughter. “Shit, Andrew, you jerk, now I’ve got vodka on my suit!”

“Don’t waste my alcohol,” Andrew said, rescuing his flask from Nicky’s hand and downing the last few mouthfuls.

Nicky laughed, bright and happy. The team ambled toward the bus, partially intoxicated and happy to be out of the banquet early. Matt and Dan clung to each other like limpets; Andrew felt a vague sense of disgust, mediated slightly by the cocktail of medication and alcohol swimming in his system.

“Get over here,” Wymack called, leaning out of the door to the bus.

Andrew swung his head up and around, staring at Wymack curiously. His jaw was set and tight as a coiled spring, seemingly unaffected by the Foxes' rowdy and carefree mood.

Andrew strolled up and leaned against the door to the bus, grinning up at Wymack as he settled into the driver’s seat. “Hey Coach, who pissed in your cheerios?”

“Just get on the damn bus,” Wymack snapped.

Andrew tutted. “Rude,” he said, mounting the stairs. He only got two steps before he stalled out, staring down at the body curled up on the front seat.

“What the hell is this?”

The figure flinched at his voice, curling tighter around the stark white of a blood-stained bandage.

“Andrew, you’re holding up the line,” Nicky whined.

Andrew ignored him, kicking at the man’s legs. He squirmed away, pressing himself against the window, the whites of his eyes flashing.

“Hey, Coach?” Andrew said, a menacing grin stretching out over his face, wide and unfriendly. “What the fuck is Kevin Day doing on our bus?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out there's nothing that can motivate you to write fanfic quite like having exams to study for #lifehack
> 
> <3<3<3 feel free to come yell at me over at [writingpuddle](https://writingpuddle.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so important announcement: i have retroactively instated Raven sixteen hour days after the brilliant [fictionfanatic](http://fictionfanatic101.tumblr.com/) figured out this schedule:
> 
> Day 1: 7am-11pm  
> 7am - wake up, eat  
> 7:30am-9am - practice  
> 9am-2pm - school (when not in class, students are required to work out, do drills, or review tapes of prior games). Lunch when time permits. Healthy snacks/protein smoothies throughout the day.  
> 2pm-4pm - practice  
> 4pm - meal  
> 5pm-11pm - sleep
> 
> Day 2: 11pm-3pm  
> 11pm - wake up, eat  
> 11:30-1am - free time (for schoolwork/online classes, workout, drills, etc)  
> 1am - meal  
> 2am-8am - practice  
> 9am-2pm - school (when not in class, students are required to work out, do drills, or review tapes of prior games). Lunch when time permits. Healthy snacks/protein smoothies throughout the day.  
> 2pm-3pm - sleep.
> 
> Day 3: 3pm-7am  
> 3pm-6pm sleep  
> 6pm - wake up, eat  
> 6:30pm-8pm - free time (schoolwork/online classes, workout, drills, etc)  
> 8pm - meal  
> 9pm-2am - practice  
> 2am-7am - sleep  
>  ~~I am not a sleep scientist, but I am mildly certain this kind of sleep schedule would Fuck You Up, and I am going to ignore that and use it anyway because it suits the Raven Aesthetic™~~
> 
> its not going to play a big role but! it's there! welcome to Raven Hell!
> 
> warnings for this chapter are just andrew being insensitive about Kevin's injury, enjoy

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“Coach,” Andrew said, leaning to try and peek into Wymack’s apartment.

Wymack shifted, using his broad shoulders to block the whole door. “He’s injured, and he’s traumatized. This is not the time for your bullshit.”

“Come on, Coach. Don’t you want to know who you’re hiding?” His grin felt sharp enough to cut himself on. “Let me in.”

“The answer is no.”

Andrew bared his teeth at him. “I’m going to find out who he is. There’s funny business going on.”

“You think I don’t know that? Kid shows up covered in blood and you think I don’t question that? But I gave you lot a chance, and I’m not going to throw his away by letting you tear him apart before he’s ready.”

Andrew stood on tiptoe, peering over Wymack’s shoulder. “He’s not even here, is he?”

“Minyard—hey, no stop—”

“If he’s not here, he’s at Abby’s,” Andrew said, already halfway down the hallway. “Thanks for your time, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Andrew, stop.” Wymack’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hall behind him. “Stop it, _now_.”

Andrew hit the button for the elevator just as Wymack caught up to him, spinning him around by his shoulder. Andrew nearly took a swing at him.

Wymack let go immediately, but glared back at him, unimpressed. “You’re not getting near Kevin until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now, are we? What’s next, tea parties and sleepovers?”

“Stop playing games and be straight with me, for once. Something about this whole situation has gotten under your skin.”

“Nothing gets under my skin.”

“Cut the crap, Minyard. This is my final offer. Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll take you to Kevin.”

Andrew rolled his head back so he could consider Wymack in the patchy hallway lights. “The Ravens came back for me; did you know that? After the barfight. Riko Moriyama hunted me down and offered to buy my freedom in exchange for taking his contract.”

Wymack looked at least a little startled. “He did?”

Andrew drew a thumb across his wide grin, like a gash in his face. “Just think. All this could be gone. In exchange for one of _those_.” He tapped his finger on his cheekbone, right where Kevin’s tattoo was.

“You refused.”

Andrew dropped his hand. “Riko’s worse than just a spoiled rich brat. He knew things he shouldn’t have. You might be fine having that around the team, but I won’t have it around me and mine.”

The elevator dinged, opening behind him. Andrew stepped back into it, leaning against the handrail. Wymack followed him into the elevator, frowning as he considered Andrew’s words. “Even if you’re right, you’ve got to remember that Kevin’s the victim here. They hurt him, too.”

“Or maybe he’s just as bad, and just outlived his usefulness.”

The elevator slowed and stopped, opening into the lobby. Andrew led the way out to Wymack’s car and settled into the passenger seat while Wymack started the vehicle, eyes distant and assessing. They drove to Abby’s in near silence. Andrew bounced his knee, agitation making him twitchier than normal.

Wymack parked on Abby’s driveway, putting a hand in front of Andrew to stop him from getting out. “Talking only, understand? I don’t want any more stitches.”

“Your lack of trust wounds me.”

Wymack just glared at him, unrelenting. Andrew waved his hand, brushing Wymack’s arm aside and climbing out of the car. “You can play chaperone if it makes you feel better,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” Wymack grumbled, but he didn’t put up any more resistance. His trust in Andrew’s restraint was a little disgusting. He would write it off as naïve, if he didn’t know Wymack was anything but.

He hammered on Abby’s door for a few seconds before trying the knob. It was locked, which was unusual in itself; Abby frequently forgot to lock the door. He patted his pockets, feeling for his lockpicks, but before he could attack the lock Abby opened the door a crack. She looked frayed, her hair flyaway and eyes shadowed.

“Andrew?” she said, confused, and then saw Wymack. Her expression cleared and she swung the door wide open. “David, thank god. He’s awake, but he’s not well. I don’t think he feels safe with just me here.”

“Oh goodie,” Andrew said. “I’d hate to wake him.” He strode past her, slamming the door against the wall behind it.

“What’s he doing here?” He heard Abby ask behind him. Wymack’s response was indistinct as Andrew climbed the stairs, shoving the door to the guest room open with no preamble.

The small room smelled thickly of antiseptic and despair. Kevin flinched, his shoulders hunching to his ears under Andrew’s gaze. Sweat made his hair hang in stringy mats. The number two on his cheekbone stood out stark against his ashen skin.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Andrew said, cocking his head to the side and surveying Kevin’s tense form. His lanky body was scrunched up in the bed, his injured hand hidden beneath tangled blankets.

Wymack cleared his throat, reaching the doorway behind him. “I know this is shit timing and you need rest, but Andrew insisted we needed to ask some questions.” Kevin’s eyes darted to him, but Wymack’s returning look was steady and uncompromising. “To be honest, after what he’s told me, I’m kind of interested in the answers, too.”

“What are you running from, Kev?” Andrew asked, a smile pulling at his lips at the familiarity of the question. He settled himself on the end of Kevin’s bed and he retracted instantly, pulling away from the dip of Andrew’s weight.

“I—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Andrew’s voice sharpened into a warning.

Kevin huddled even lower. Abby shot the other two a disapproving look and skirted the bed, sitting gently next to Kevin.

“Ms. Winfield, I—”

“Shh,” she said, rubbing his shoulder. He leaned towards her like a wilting flower, his desperation clear in every desolate line of his body. “You’re safe here, okay? We’re here to help.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t—”

“You can, and you will, or we will send you back where you came from and forget about it,” Andrew said cheerfully.

Wymack shot him a glare. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “We’re not sending you back. But I need to know what’s going on. What happened to your hand?”

“Skiing accident,” Kevin mumbled.

Even Abby didn’t look convinced.

“Try again,” Andrew said.

Kevin shook his head. “I can’t—nobody would believe me. It doesn’t matter.”

Abby took his face in her hand, guiding it upward until he was staring hopelessly at her. “It matters, Kevin. Someone hurt you.”

“You can’t go to the police.”

“Why not?” Wymack cut in.

“I—”

“We’re not going to let this one go, Day,” Andrew said. “I’d advise cutting the crap now, since you’re going to eventually anyway.”

Wymack shot him another look, as if reproaching him for using the same phrase he’d used against Andrew earlier. Andrew ignored him.  

Kevin shivered, looking pathetic and withered, too worn out for his tall frame to hold. His eyes darted around the room, seeking an ally, but even Abby held firm. He swallowed hard. His voice was barely above a whisper as he forced it out.

“Riko,” he said. His eyes pressed shut, shuddering like he expected to be hit.

Andrew heard Wymack’s controlled exhale, the restrained fury behind it. “What happened?”

“There was talk. In the ERC. About Riko and I. The Mas—Coach Moriyama thought it needed proving. He made me and Riko do a shootout. To see who was better.”

“You won,” Wymack said.

Kevin raised his head, a spark of the arrogant striker who had first tried to recruit Andrew in his eyes. “I let him win.”

The moment of defiance passed and he sagged again, clutching his cast in his free hand. “He figured it out. He—I’ll never play again. I’m ruined.”

“Sibling rivalries, amiright?” Andrew mocked. “Remind me why exactly an assault charge is such a bad idea?”

He knew. He thought he knew, anyway. But he needed to hear Kevin confirm it.

“The Moriyama’s are too powerful,” Kevin said. “I couldn’t—they’ve got money on their side. No one would believe me.”

“Powerful-rich?” Andrew asked. “Or powerful-something else?”

Kevin twisted his good hand in the blanket. He stared downwards, his voice flimsy and breakable. “Both,” he said. “And neither.”

The room felt overcharged. Andrew drummed his fingers against Kevin’s shin, under the blanket, watched him flinch at the light contact. “The Moriyama’s are—they have— _ties_.”

Wymack filled in the blanks. “Organized crime,” he said.

Kevin flinched, but nodded. “The main family runs it. Riko and the Master are second sons; they aren’t directly involved. The Ravens are the only thing the main family allows them control over, and the profits funnel upwards to Lord Kengo. The Nest gets only the scraps.”

“Scraps which Riko still thought were big enough to bribe my prosecution,” Andrew said. “Those are pretty big scraps.”

Kevin gave him an exhausted stare. “The Moriyama’s are pretty big players.”

Wymack shifted, folding his arms over his as he chewed on his next words. “If we can’t take this to the cops, what can we do? We’re not letting you go back there, but if they try to hurt my team—”

Kevin was already shaking his head. “Coach Moriyama won’t want me back like this. I’m worthless to them. It’s the only reason Jean was able to get me away.” His breathing quickened, right at the edge of a panic attack. “If you don’t want me here—”

“I’m not sending you away. Kayleigh would come back and haunt my ass, and I’ve got an assistant coach position open anyway. Seems like you could use a job.”

Kevin’s jaw dropped. Andrew sat up straight. “Hey, Coach?” he demanded. “Coach? What the hell is this? We didn’t agree to this!”

“There is no ‘we.’ It’s my team, and my decision. Kevin?”

Kevin stared, dumbfounded. “I…yes. Of course, thank—”

“He’s in no shape to start working right now,” Abby interjected. “He’s barely out of surgery!”

“Calm down, woman, I’m not saying he has to start this instant. But I do need to know what we can expect out of the Ravens going forward. I’m going to guess it’s nothing pleasant.”

Andrew sighed loudly, making his aggravation clear. Wymack ignored him, which was rude, considering he’d just ferreted out a mafia reject for him. No gratitude.

Kevin swallowed. “I don’t…nothing like this has happened before. They won’t attack you directly. But if the fans learn I’ve switched sides, the Ravens won’t have to do anything themselves anyway. And they don’t mind collateral damage.”

“I, for one, do not agree with this,” Andrew said. “I am not putting my people into your mafia target practice.”

“We’re not going to be stupid, Andrew,” Wymack snapped. “But I’m not sending him away, and that’s final. You’re just going to have to sort your shit out yourselves.”

Andrew blinked, then smiled widely. “Of course. What a great idea. Let’s chat, Kev. I’m sure we’ve got _lots_ in common.”

Wymack eyed him suspiciously. “Somehow I don’t like this attitude any better.”

“Aw, Coach. Don’t you worry. Me and my good buddy Kevin just need a few minutes.” His smile sharpened. “In private.”

Wymack exhaled heavily through his nose. “This is a bad idea,” he said, holding out his open palm.

“That’s not how high-fives work,” Andrew said, holding his own hand up to demonstrate. “See? Works a lot better. I would know, Nicky tries to give me one approximately every five minutes.”

“Your knives, Andrew.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Hand them over.”

Andrew huffed petulantly and slipped a blade out of each armband, dropping them into Wymack’s hand. He left it out, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“You know,” Andrew said, “your lack of trust is really bad for morale.”

“I bleed for you.”

Andrew screwed up his face and pulled another knife out of his boot and one from his waistband, adding them to the small arsenal Wymack was already holding.

“Is that all?”

“Coach—”

Wymack heaved a long-suffering sigh, shoving the knives into the pocket of his coat. “If there’s so much as a scratch on him—"

“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew waved his hands. “Shoo. Off with you.”

Wymack glared at him, before ushering an unhappy Abby out into the hallway. They shut the door behind them, leaving Andrew and Kevin in the stuffy, cloying silence.

Andrew grinned, manic energy making him twitchy. “ _So._ ”

“Look, I don’t know—”

“What you don’t know would fill a small library,” Andrew interrupted. “Maybe even a very large one. I’m undecided as to whether you’re an accomplice, or just an accessory.”

“Does it matter?”

Andrew laughed, startled. “Oh, you do still have some spark. I wonder how long it takes for the Foxes to crush it out of you.”

“I survived the Ravens. I can handle a few upstarts like you.”

“You’ll want to check that arrogance at the door if you want to keep your pretty face intact. Or don’t, I’d enjoy seeing you humbled.”

Kevin flinched, looking frightened. “If it’s information about Neil you want—”

“Stop,” Andrew snapped, coming to his feet in a lurch. “You’re here, he’s not. I know everything I need to know.”

He spun on his heels, abruptly furious, and strode towards the door. He didn’t want anything else to do with _Kevin_.

“Make a deal with me,” Kevin said desperately.

Andrew stopped, hand on the door frame. For a moment his fury flared, but it quickly drowned under the rising tide of his drugs. Laughter bubbled up at the preposterous thought, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. His hand went to his face as he shook with laughter, leaning heavily against the doorframe to turn back and look at Kevin.

“You?” he wheezed, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes. “What could a cripple like you possibly offer me?”

“Neil said—”

“ _Don’t_.”

Kevin’s jaw clenched and he raised his head stubbornly. “I’ve seen your games. You have potential. You could be great.”

“At Exy? Pass.”

“Let me give you something to build your life on. I know where you came from. I can give you a foundation to become something more.”

Andrew scoffed. “In exchange for what? You think I can protect you from the Big Bad Wolf?”

Fear flashed through Kevin’s eyes. “I can’t—if Riko comes for me, I’ll go. I just need—”

“Someone to say no for you,” Andrew finished. “Hard pass.”

“Please, I—”

“No,” Andrew said, and shut the door behind him.

\---

The first time Kevin showed up in his new coaching position, even Dan was unable to hide her reaction to his abrasive tone. Andrew laughed and ignored him.

The second time Kevin harassed Andrew about his playing, he chucked a ball at his head.

The third time, he chucked his whole racquet at him.

The fourth time, and the fifth, and the sixth, he sat in the stands, and not Nicky’s pleading, or Wymack’s bargaining, or Dan’s _suck it up_ could get him to move.

\---

The first time Kevin showed up on the court in his gear, racquet held in his right hand like a child gripping a hammer for the first time, Andrew smiled, and changed out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not my fave chapter by far but w/e now we can get to the good stuff. the long distance pining stuff. you know, _pain_
> 
> come say hi on tumblr at [writingpuddle](https://writingpuddle.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> important announcements are made, and the foxes do what foxes do best: be total dicks about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for insensitive jokes about attempted suicide and overdose (re: janie smalls)
> 
> beth's hair looks like [this](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/99/1b/81/991b81ec6fe8932e54e8f9305bc84dd2--beautiful-braids-beautiful-hairstyles.jpg)

The sheets slipped against Neil’s skin, soft and freshly washed. He rolled onto his back, the bandage on his cheek tightening and tugging on his awareness.

He didn’t get up, or even open his eyes. He knew what he’d see. Black ceiling, black walls, black furniture. Somehow the room always felt cramped, regardless of the open space that would make most college students jealous.

The bandage tugged again and he prodded it cautiously. He’d done it. One year to prove his worth on Riko’s court. The _or else_ hadn’t needed to be said.

A hand caught him before he could poke his cheek again. “Stop it,” Jean said. “It will not heal cleanly if you agitate it.”

Neil grunted his irritation and rolled away, ambling to the bathroom that they shared. Despite his petulance, he was careful as he peeled the bandage off, inspecting the bold black number like a brand on his cheekbone.

He washed his hands and gently wiped away the dried ink and scabs that had built up overnight, before massaging in the aftercare lotion the tattoo artist had given him.

He returned to the bedroom just in time for Jean to look up from his phone, panic exploding across his features. Neil flinched back reflexively. “What—”

The door slammed open. Riko stormed across the room in a black fury and Neil barely had time to notice that he was still in his silken pyjamas before Riko’s fist connected with his cheek and he hit the wall with a crack. Black spots danced in his vision as Riko caught his collar and hauled him upright, pinning him against the wall.

“You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Riko snarled, slamming him against the wall again.

Neil hung limply in his grip, thoughts swimming with the force of the blow. “Put who up to what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Riko hurled him against the wall and he slid down, boneless.

He managed to make eye contact with Jean across the room. He still had his phone clutched white-knuckled in one hand. “Kevin signed with the Foxes,” Jean said.

It took a moment to arrange those words in a way that made sense. When they did, it was all he could do to keep a shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. “He’s going to play?”

“They’ve announced his intentions to play right-handed,” Jean said, shooting a fearful glance at Riko. He wasn’t paying attention; he only had eyes for Neil.

“Kevin didn’t think of this himself,” Riko hissed. “You planted the idea in his head.”

Neil prodded the side of his mouth, affecting nonchalance. “Maybe he just finally grew a spine in Palmetto.”

He knew he’d get a kick for that, but even prepared the blow knocked the wind out of him. He crumpled against the floor, sucking air in great gulps. His lungs felt like they would cave in.

“He cannot be allowed to play. We’ve let this ruse go on long enough. He belongs here.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Neil taunted. “You don’t think he could actually win, do you?”

Another kick, this one knocking him into the side of Jean’s desk. A cascade of stationary rattled off the top of his head. “He will make a fool of himself and in the process break beyond use. He should never have left the Nest.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jean said, his tone pacifying. “The Foxes barely made championships this year. He won’t make it far enough to face us.”

“No,” Riko said, an evil light sparking in his eye. “No. We can’t leave it up to chance. He will pay for this.” He grinned down at Neil. “Change out.”

He swept out of the room, only looking a little ridiculous swaggering in his silken pyjamas.

Neil shifted, running his hands over his ribs to check nothing had broken. The second kick would probably bruise pretty nastily. The other blows had been more glancing.

“Why couldn’t he just quit?” Jean whispered, his voice worn thin with fear.

“You put this in motion,” Neil said, hauling himself up and wincing. This was going to make practice miserable. “You could at least act happy for him.”

“If he can still play, he should have returned to the Nest.”

“If he returns,” Neil retorted, “Riko will break his other hand.”

Agony twisted Jean’s face before it was replaced with resignation. “He should have just walked away. Riko will destroy him.”

“Giving up Exy would destroy him too.”

“At least he would be free.”

Neil didn’t respond. He knew what that kind of freedom felt like. Grey and heavy, like walking in cement. It was only a half step up from death.

“Change out,” he said instead. “Riko’s going to be foul today. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

\---

“Tighter,” Beth said.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Teia said, the extensions in her hand slipping and tangling.

“You are soft and weak,” Beth informed her, rescuing the extensions from her hands before she could get them hopelessly knotted. She raked her fingers through to straighten them and pulled them tight against the base of her skull, braiding them through her natural hair deftly.

“That looks painful,” Teia said, flopping on the couch next to her.

“You get used to it,” Beth replied. She was trying something new this time, doing long, waist-length pink braids. It had already taken three hours, and she could easily see it taking another ten.

Teia dropped a kiss on her cheek. “We all knew I was useless at hair anyway.”

“It’s your job to make sure I eat,” Beth said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Mm-hm.” Teia dug through the couch cushions until she came up with the remote, flicking on the TV. She sifted through the channels until she found one playing Exy coverage.

Beth made a perfunctory noise of disgust, but didn’t protest the change. Truthfully, she’d been keeping closer track of the Exy season than she would ever have admitted this time last year.

“Big news in the world of NCAA Exy this week,” a tall, dark-skinned woman in front of the anchor desk said. “After all the upheaval with Kevin Day’s injury, nobody was expecting such a big announcement from the Foxes this week.”

“Absolutely, Sophie,” replied her co-host, Amal-something-or-other. Beth had somehow become the sort of person that knew sports announcers by name. She felt vaguely disappointed in herself. “I’m speechless. Utterly speechless.”

“I mean, on the one hand, I’m thrilled. Losing Kevin Day would be a massive loss to the Exy community, but I can’t wrap my head around it. If he _can_ play, why is he in Palmetto and not at Edgar Allan?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Day’s new team seems to be struggling as well; they’ve delayed publishing their full line-up, leading to some doubts as to what is going on down in South Carolina.”

“Exactly. After their incredible season this year, you’d think the Foxes would be trying to capitalize on their unexpected success, but other than Day’s announcement, we haven’t heard a peep from them since they were booted from championships in the second round.”

Beth partially tuned them out as they nattered on about the Foxes’ miracle season. Despite the good showing, there was pessimism in the air; Amal clearly thought the result was merely a one-hit wonder. Sophie thought Day’s expertise would give the team an edge going into the next season, but thought that the team would be a lot more successful if they quit treating it like a charity instead of a sports team.

“It’s a load of shit,” Teia said. “The Foxes could win championships and they’d still be saying crap like that. You know if Danielle Wilds was a guy they’d be all over her asking how she transformed the team, talking like she’s an inspiration. But all the mainstream outlets are just ‘Kevin Day-this, Kevin Day-that.’”

“Sports are hell, I’ve said that before,” Beth said.

“Yet here you are.”

Beth hummed noncommittally, her fingers moving almost without conscious thought. “Have you thought any more about—"

“I’m going to go get snacks,” Teia said abruptly, hauling herself off the couch. Beth frowned as she went, a twist in her stomach that had nothing to do with Exy coverage. Graduation was coming up, and Teia kept dodging the subject.

She bit her lip and sectioned out a new bit of hair, weaving the pink extensions in as she went.

“Now the Ravens new member, that one caught us all by surprise. After the revelation of Jean Moreau last year, everyone’s been wondering when the next ‘chosen one’ was going to appear. But we don’t have very much information on the new guy, is that right?”

“It’s as if he came out of literally nowhere. Like Moreau, he appears to have been training with the Ravens prior to signing, which may explain the fact that nobody has any statistics on the guy. He’s a complete mystery.”

“What _do_ we know, at this point?”

The two commentators vanished as a player stats sheet filled the screen.

Beth shrieked.

“Babe?” Teia shouted, crashing into the living room, a frightened look on her face.

Beth couldn’t make any words, just gestured frantically at the TV.

Teia stared, confusion dawning on her face. “Is that? no…”

“That’s our Neil,” Beth said.

“No, he had brown hair. That’s just—”

“It literally says Neil Josten right there!”

Teia dropped onto the couch, a stunned look on her face. Beth looked down at the hopeless tangle of her braid, numbly pulling the strands apart and dropping them into a plastic garbage bag while the commentators continued.

“He’ll be joining Moreau on the defense line,” Sophie said as the stats sheet faded to show the red and white anchor desk. “He’s five-foot-three and turned nineteen two weeks ago.”

“And that’s all we know so far?”

“The Ravens are keeping everything else on lockdown. Whatever it is that got Josten onto the ‘Perfect Court,’ the other teams are just going to have to find out when they face him in the fall.”

They kept talking, but Beth barely heard them. “He played striker with Andrew,” she said, dazed.

“I don’t get it,” Teia shook her head, forehead creased with disbelief. “How did he—?”

Beth shook her head, wresting her phone out from the couch cushions it was drowning in. She took a quick snapshot of the TV, the headline still bearing Neil’s name. She sent it to Andrew along with a short message.

_have u seen this????_

Andrew’s response hit her inbox a minute later, and she nearly chucked the phone at the TV in fury.

_Don’t do anything stupid._

\---

“Alright you lot, settle down,” Wymack said, to little effect. Exams were over and summer break was imminent, which meant riots were practically breaking out among the remaining Foxes. The graduating members hadn’t come, despite the free pizza on offer.

Wymack banged his hand against the wall, shouting to be heard. “Sit down and shut up! Yes Minyard, that means you too.”

“Aww, but Coach,” Andrew said, an awful grin on his face where he hung off of Nicky’s shoulder.

“I don’t give a damn. Ten minutes and I’m free of your lazy asses for a whole month.”

There were some grumbles at that, but the team eased into their seats. Kevin hovered beside Wymack, his anxiety a palpable buzz in the air. Seth and Allison were in an “on” phase, and she was tucked securely into his lap. Everyone ignored them.

“Alright, first order of business,” Wymack said, once they’d all somewhat settled. “Word is officially out about Kevin, so you can expect the Ravens’ fans are going to be twice as nasty going forward. I’m going to sound like a goddamn nanny, but its probably best not to go out alone next couple of days till we feel out their response. Kevin’s already said they won’t take it well and we’ve taken precautions going into next season, but I can’t do shit for you while you’re away for the summer. Act accordingly.”

“Has anyone warned the new girl?” Renee asked. “It could be dangerous if she’s unaware.”

“That’s number two,” Wymack said, grimacing. “Janie’s off the team. She’s on suicide watch at the hospital and her family opted to pull her from the line-up.”

“We’re down a striker?” Kevin said, sitting bolt upright.

“For the moment, yes.”

“You mean we’re getting free food, free accommodation, and free education, and we won’t even play next year?” Andrew grinned. “Coach, I’m swooning.”

“Don’t get too excited. I’ll put a damn chimp on the court before I let you sit on your asses all year. I’ve found a girl in nowheres-ville Idaho and hopefully I can sign her in time. She’s not up to standard—no, Kevin, don’t give me that look—but she’s our only option. I’m flying out there tomorrow and I’ll keep you lot posted.”

“We should make a get-well card for Janie,” Renee said. “Let her know we’re thinking of her.”

“Yeah, like that’ll go down well,” Seth scoffed. “‘Wow, look, I got a fucking card, maybe I won’t off myself today.’”

“You’re one to talk,” Nicky retorted. “It’s been what, six months? Aren’t you about due for another overdose?”

“Fuck you,” Seth spat, but Allison held him back with a manicured hand.

“Fun as this is,” she said. “Are we finished?”

“We’ve got lots of frolicking and carousing to catch up on,” Andrew quipped.

“Just one thing,” Wymack said, holding up the folder in his hand. “The other teams have posted their new line-ups. Looks like Riko’s got himself a new minion.”

He slapped the folder down on the table, and about half of the team leaned forward to look. He kept his eye on Kevin, sitting ramrod stiff on the chair beside him. Aaron and Nicky were distracted, leaning over Nicky’s phone, but Andrew’s head lolled back against the couch, studying Wymack with calculating eyes.

“Oh, he’s cute,” Allison said, leaning precariously out past Seth’s knees. “Too bad about the ugly tattoo.”

“There’s no high school listed,” Dan observed. “Did he grow up at the Nest, like you and Jean?”

“No,” Kevin said, his gaze darting almost imperceptibly to Andrew. “He was supposed to, but his mother made a run for it before he formally transferred to the Nest. He was only returned there last year.”

Andrew’s fingers dug into the arm of the couch, whitening for a brief instance before releasing back into his lap. _Gotcha_ , Wymack thought.

“Returned,” Matt echoed. “You make it sound like they dragged him back in chains.”

“Not literally,” Kevin said. “But he did not come willingly, no.”

Dan frowned at the page, clearly experiencing the same strange sense of déjà vu Wymack had when he first saw the file. “Neil…how do I know that…”

Aaron and Nicky finally clued in, looking up in almost comedic synchronization. Andrew’s smile sharpened to a knife edge.

Aaron was quicker, leaning over the file with false nonchalance. Dan’s head jerked up suspiciously. “Look familiar?”

Aaron’s brow creased, shooting a quick glance at Andrew. “Not a clue,” he said, pushing the file away.

That broke Kevin’s haughty mask. “What do you mean, you don’t know? He went to your school. We only found him because we were there to scout Andrew.”

“That’s one helluva coincidence,” Matt said at the same time Dan snapped her fingers.

“That’s it! He’s the kid we saw practicing with Andrew when we went to sign the monsters.”

Aaron shrugged. “Don’t know him, sorry.”

“That’s bullshit,” she said hotly. “It’s him, I know it. Dye his hair brown, and it’s the exact same guy.”

Nicky had a hold of the file now and was frowning openly. He shot a quick question to Aaron in German, who mumbled something in response before Andrew cut them off sharply.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Nicky said in English, handing the file back.

“That’s—”

“Do you need your ears checked?” Andrew cut in. “It was a big school. You can’t know everyone. Anything else we should know about, Coach, or are we free to go?”

Wymack levelled a steady glare at him. “You’re full of shit, Minyard.”

“I’m certainly full of something,” Andrew said brightly, rattling his pockets and the pills within. “How about it, Renee? One last round before a summer of preaching to the masses?”

If Renee was surprised by the request, it didn’t show. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and stood. “Do you mind if we go, Coach?”

Unlike Andrew, her question was actually sincere. Wymack waved his hand dismissively. “I won’t stop you.”

She smiled and wished him goodbye for the summer, then followed Andrew out the door. The rest of his group tried to follow, but Dan blocked the door, arms folded and expression stony. Nicky and Aaron stalled, shifty-eyed. “Cut the crap. What is going on?”

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” Nicky said helplessly. “He might’ve gone to their school, but he wasn’t even in the same grade.”

“He knew you! He knew you, and now he’s some mob runaway playing for the Ravens and it’s got to Andrew enough the he needs Renee. If this is going to affect the team, we need to know.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Nicky protested.

“Just get out of the way,” Aaron said impatiently, shoving past her roughly enough the Matt bridled.

Nicky flashed Dan a pained smile and moved to follow. Dan shifted out of the way, scowling.

“You know,” she called after his retreating back. “Neil was right about you. He said you were a coward.”

Nicky flinched like he’d been slapped and scurried down the hallway out of sight. Dan turned on Kevin like a wolf rounding on a hapless rodent. “Well?”

Kevin tensed, his eyes jumping to Wymack immediately. Wymack folded his arms, giving Dan a hard look. Kevin had been following him around like a frightened puppy ever since he stepped into the public eye as assistant coach. She scowled at him, understanding without words: he wouldn’t play favourites, but he wouldn’t let her bully Kevin, either.

She growled, collapsing back onto her couch cushion in a tense huff. Matt squeezed her shoulder in silent support. Kevin’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, now that his captain was no longer looming over him. “I don’t know any more than you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Nath—Neil insisted he didn’t know them.”

“Smells like bullshit to me,” Seth said.

“Did he really say that shit about Nicky?” Allison asked, indifferent to the anger rolling off Dan in waves.

“Yeah,” she said. She tilted her head in concentration, raising her hands in air quotes. “'Aaron’s an asshole, Nicky’s a coward, and Andrew is Andrew.’ Which, in hindsight, is a much better description than I thought it was at the time.”

“And it’s definitely him?” Matt asked.

“Would I bet my life on it?” She shrugged. “But he went to their school, he’s called Neil, he looks the same and he’s the right height. Yeah, it’s him.”

“You can speculate on your own time,” Wymack said, scooping the file off the table. “We’re back here June fourth. Try not to burn anything down while my back is turned.”

“No promises,” Seth drawled, dumping Allison unceremoniously off his lap. She snarled something at him as he made for the door, and they were arguing before it shut behind them.

\---

Renee prodded at her nose gingerly. Not broken, Andrew had at least that much control, but they usually avoided such blatant facial hits. Their normal rules, however, were no rules, so she couldn’t cry foul.

She dropped her hand and considered Andrew. He sat on the floor cross-legged, humming tunelessly and drumming his fingers on his calves, that inane smile still on his face.

She wasn’t fooled. He should’ve taken his lunch time dose twenty minutes ago, but his pills were stuffed away in his coat pocket. It was only a matter of time before that smile slipped and withdrawal began.

“May I ask a question?”

“And ruin a perfectly good afternoon?”

Renee waved a hand at her face. She hadn’t seen a mirror yet, but she was sure it was red and swollen. She’d be spending her summer break looking like she’d run face first into a cement wall. “I’ve earned it, don’t you think?”

Andrew tilted his head, still smiling, viper-like. “You can ask, but there’s no guarantee you’ll get an answer.”

“Who is Neil Josten, really?”

“Nobody,” Andrew replied, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of today this fic finally passes the Bechdel test! Huzzah! 
> 
> i dont think any particular warnings apply for this chapter. andrew is an asshole, but what else is new?

Neil pressed cool hands over his eyes, biting back a groan as the alarm clock beeped obnoxiously. It squawked repeatedly, the volume growing until he heard Jean fumble out of bed and slap it off the table.

Neil buried his face in the pillow, wincing as his swollen left eye brushed against the fabric. He wondered how much shit he’d be in if he just didn’t get up this time. No more than he would be if he got up, he decided. There were always rules, and he always ended up breaking them. At least this way he could stay in bed a few minutes longer.  

He tracked Jean’s footsteps into the bathroom and peeked over at the alarm clock. 6:00pm. Technically the Ravens had free time for a couple hours, but the same didn’t hold true for Neil and Jean; they went wherever Riko’s whims did.

A headache pulsed in his temple that had nothing to do with his black eye. He pulled his blanket up over his head, shivering in the stuffy heat beneath his blanket.

“Get up,” Jean said, voice soft and sleep-weary.

Neil bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

Never in his life had the idea of getting up held less appeal. The Nest, before, had been a boring sort of torment; even pain could become monotonous, if you’d grown up soaked in it. The months had been filled with long, grueling tedium interspersed with moments of spine-melting agony.

Kevin’s departure had tipped that balance.

Jean sighed heavily, sitting on the side of the bed. His weight made Neil shift, pulling back out of the blankets.

The raw emptiness in Jean’s eyes echoed his own. Neil looked away, unable to face him directly. His back stung as he shifted to lean back against his pillows, half-propped up. He could feel stiffness in his shirt where he’d bled through his bandages in the night.

Jean held up a small ice pack, and Neil took it, laying it against the bruised side of his face and wincing slightly at the cold.

“Riko has us sorting fan letters today,” Jean said.

“Great,” Neil muttered.

“It is,” Jean said. “Fame always improves Riko’s mood.”

“I’ve got no interest in stroking his swollen ego any more than it already has been.”

Jean sighed again. “Just get up. Please?”

Neil’s lip curled instinctively at the word, and he immediately regretted it when his bruised face flared in anger. He breathed in sharply, rolling the ice pack onto another part of his face.

“I thought you would know by now that begging gets you nowhere,” Neil said harshly, shuffling off the opposite side of the bed, stretching cautiously. His back prickled in warning, stinging like he’d been rolled in salt.

Jean’s face darkened. “Is there nothing I can say that won’t set you off? When I ask, you mock me. When I demand, you tear me to pieces. If you would only listen—”

“Forget it,” Neil said, trudging past him into the bathroom.

It wasn’t really Jean that he was angry at; hearing that word just reminded him of other places, other conversations. A rooftop and a grey sky, the wind whistling over him like he was no more significant than the pollen it carried. The open air stretching past the horizon.  

The black walls crushed down on him, making it hard to breath. He splashed water over his face, rubbing his wet hands through his hair as a substitute for actual washing. He did a speed run through his morning routine—did it count as morning?—and returned to the room, rummaging in his dresser for some casual clothes.

Jean still hadn’t moved from his seat on Neil’s bed. Neil stifled the tingling feeling on the back of his neck as he stripped his pyjamas off and pulled on some black sweats and a t-shirt. He’d never really gotten used to being undressed in front of Jean, no matter how many times he had patched up Neil’s wounds without comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Jean asked quietly, not looking at him. “That it was me.”

Neil went still, staring down at his hand. He ran his fingers over the knuckles, feeling the knobbly bones beneath a thin layer of skin. “He’d find an excuse to punish us anyway,” he said. “It makes no difference.”

Jean got to his feet in a rush, a surprising vehemence to his voice. “It makes a difference,” he said. “He focusses on you—”

“What do you want, Jean?” Neil asked.

Jean fell silent.

“Let’s get these stupid letters done,” Neil said. Jean nodded tightly, still avoiding his eyes, and Neil pushed the door open. “Do you want to eat now or later?”

“Later,” Jean said. Neil didn’t argue; if they waited, the dining hall would be quieter when they did go.

The mailroom was just another office down the hallway from the Master’s office. He had people to actually sort the mail and open it—everyone’s mail was read prior to being distributed. All Neil and Jean were doing was filling out the form responses and sending merch where it was warranted. It was nothing more than busywork, a somewhat unimaginative reminder that they were little more than servants.

Neil pulled out a stack of pre-filled postcards and plopped it on the table, flipping open a box labelled GEN. General team letters, not directed at specific players.

He flipped over the first letter and scratched the return address onto the postcard. Kids got one type of card, adults another; Exy teams sometimes qualified for merch, their letters marked with red stickers to let Neil and Jean know to fetch packages out of the storeroom. It was easy enough.

Neil hated this job the most, because it left him too much brain space to think. Training kept him too busy to turn inwards, to remember.

“Neil,” Jean grunted.

Neil hummed vaguely as he copied another address.

“Neil,” Jean said again.

Neil sighed, dragging his attention up to where Jean held a letter outstretched. He reached out mechanically and froze when he saw his own name on the address line.

His heart stammered to a stop. His eyes darted to the return address. His name had been out to the public for a month, but he hadn’t heard a peep from the cousins. He’d assumed Andrew was keeping them in check—

It wasn’t the cousins.

The letter was already torn open. Neil forced his hand to stay steady and take it, rubbing his thumb over the return address. _Bethany Mathley, 208 - 84 Harcourt Road, Columbia SC._

He met Jean’s eyes over the table. He stared back, expression outwardly impassive, but Neil could read curiosity in the way his hands slowed, shuffling letters around without achieving anything.

Neil’s fingers slipped into the envelope without conscious direction. He unfolded the single page letter, Beth’s familiar messy printing stretching out across the page.

_To Neil Josten,_

_Hi! You may not remember me, but I was involved in a lot of the Exy events back at Columbia High when you were here. Me and the team were very excited to see one of our old classmates joining the Ravens! So first of all, congratulations…_

Neil stared at the words till they went fuzzy. His body felt too tight, like he’d been squeezed into armour a size too small. The letter was perfectly impersonal. His throat closed, knotting up beneath his skin.

There was no way she could know. Could she?

Why else would she pretend?

“Neil?” Jean asked warily, eyeing him.

Neil jumped like he’d been shot, eyes wide as he stared up at Jean. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just an old classmate.”

He held out the letter like it was proof. Jean took it, scanning over it briefly. A frown pinched between his eyebrows. Neil knew he was seeing the discrepancy between Neil’s reaction and the banality of the letter.

He met Jean’s eyes when he looked up again, willing him to say nothing. Jean’s frown deepened, studying Neil like he could find the answers written on his skin.

“I’m going to send them a merch package,” he said, pushing to his feet. “The Master won’t mind, do you think?”

“Probably not,” Jean said. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push; perhaps he was finally beginning to understand how poorly that worked on Neil. “It has already been cleared. They clearly did not think it was notable.”

It was permission and a warning in one: don’t be too obvious, or they’ll realize it means more. Neil nodded and vanished into the storeroom. It was a narrow cavern of a room, two rows of high shelves lined with boxes, lit dimly by a line of flickering fluorescent tubes.

He beelined over to one of the more modest packages. It wasn’t extravagant, just a plain brown box containing a few generic Ravens jerseys and memorabilia, and some factbooks on the current players. Nothing too suspicious. He hoped.

He tucked the box under his arm and scanned the room. There had to be a way—

His eyes lit on a bucket of Raven-logoed lighters.

He emerged from the storeroom a minute later, folding the wings of the cardboard box down. Twelve shirts, twelve flags, twelve keychains. One lighter.

Even if the Masters people went through the boxes again before they shipped, they wouldn’t see anything other than a pile of merch. Jean’s dark eyes kept darting up towards him as he taped the box shut and copied Beth’s address out on the top, then signed his name on the bland, pre-made postcard, sliding it into a plastic sheath which he sealed to the side of the box.

He could only hope Beth would understand.

\---

Andrew dropped into his usual spot on the couch, drumming his fingers against the armrest. Aaron should already be here. Worn out leather cracked under his hands as he scanned the room. The upperclassmen filled the spots across from him, chatting quietly. Renee’s nose had healed up nicely, he noted.

His fingers stopped their relentless motion as he realized what else was missing. Still no new striker. Nicky lounged on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over the arm to flirt with a bemused-looking Kevin.

Wymack breezed in a second later, wearing a wife beater and a tan several shades deeper than it had been when they left a month ago. “Alright maggots, everyone still in one piece?”

“Never better,” Seth said sourly. He was ignored; Allison was sitting with the girls today.

“More or less,” Dan said. She exchanged a look with the other two girls. “There’s been some pretty nasty emails coming through to my school email account. I’ve requested to have it changed, but IT hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

“I’ll call and shout at them,” Wymack said. “Anyone else?”

“Stephanie’s gotten some letters as well,” Renee said. “I convinced her not to go public, so far, but she’s not happy about it.”

“My fucking house got egged,” Seth snapped.

“Really?” Nicky said, perking up. “Did any of it hit you? Please tell me it did.”

“Nicky,” Wymack warned.

“Oh, sorry.” He affected sympathy, looking at Seth with big, mournful eyes. “Did any of it hit you?”

“Shut up,” Wymack said. “Where’s the other two?”

Andrew blinked, making a show of looking around the room. “Two?” he asked.

“I asked Aaron to show the new girl the court,” Wymack said, checking his watch. “They should’ve been done by now.”

Andrew was on his feet before Wymack even finished talking, and made it halfway to the door before it swung open. A girl with bright blonde hair sashayed into the room, her head tipped back as she laughed at something Aaron said.

Andrew stopped. Aaron, a step behind the girl, froze, the smile on his face slipping off like a rotten banana peel.

“Hi!” the girl said, smiling brilliantly. “You must be Andrew. Aaron was just telling me all about you.”

“Was he, now?” Andrew said.

“Let it go,” Aaron muttered, pushing past him and dropping onto the couch, folding his arms. The girl only smiled harder.

“If he’s told you all about me, then you know I don’t like people messing with my things,” Andrew said, letting his drugged smile stretch higher onto his cheeks.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said blithely, sticking her hand out. “Sorry we were late, Aaron was just giving me some tips. Turns out we’re in the same major.”

“How _fun_ ,” Andrew said, ignoring her hand. “Did he also maybe give you some tips on _minding your own business?”_

She blinked, her smile cracking a little before she valiantly pulled it back up. Her hand dropped to her side, her eyes jumping to the rest of the team. “Anyway, sorry for keeping you guys waiting. Is everybody already here?”

“Yep,” Wymack said.

Andrew’s lip curled as he stepped into the girl’s space, watching as her nose flared, tensing at his proximity.

“Minyard, back off,” Wymack said.

Andrew didn’t look at him, but he didn’t move forward, either. Wymack usually let the team work out their hierarchies on their own; it meant that when he did get involved, he expected to be obeyed.

“It’s fine, Coach,” she said, laughing, a little fake. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

Andrew laughed. “Where did you find this one, Coach? It doesn’t seem to be broken, yet. What’s wrong with it?”

The girl tipped her head, smiling at him with an intensity that was almost aggressive. “Maybe you should learn how to mind your own business,” she said sweetly.

Andrew’s lip curled. “ _Funny_ ,” he said. “Did your mommy teach you that one?”

“Andrew,” Aaron hissed. “Knock it off.”

Andrew jerked around, glaring at Aaron. He sat stiff as a corpse next to Nicky, shoulders bunched up next to his ears.

A slow smile spread across Andrew’s face as the anger slipped away as fast as it came. He rolled his neck, matching toothy grin for toothy grin and shoving the girl aside. He dropped back into his spot next to Aaron, sprawling his legs to prevent her from trying to squeeze in with them.

“Damn, girl,” Allison said, patting the chair next to her. “You can come sit by me.”

Wymack pinched the bridge of his nose, waving his hand. “Everyone, this is Katelyn, our new striker. Katelyn, everyone.”

Katelyn settled down into a chair between Allison and Dan, still smiling with relentless goodwill. Allison immediately leaned in, wrapping a bangle-crusted arm around her shoulder and grinning wickedly.

Andrew elbowed Aaron in the ribs, whispering in German, “What do you think? Should we invite her out to Eden’s Friday?”

“ _No_ ,” Aaron said. “Christ, Andrew. Just leave her alone.”

“Should I? You made a promise. I won’t see her break it.”

“I gave her some tips on classes. It’s not like we had sex on the fucking court. Nothing happened.”

“Keep it that way,” Andrew said.

“Are you about done?” Wymack snapped. “Thank you, for that rousing display of teenage jackassery. I’ve got actual news.”

“We’re listening,” Dan said.

Wymack’s expression was set like granite. “Edgar Allan is coming south. They’ve switched into our district.”

“What?” Matt demanded. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Andrew said, lolling his head towards Kevin and giving him a big grin. “They miss their little prince. It’s almost sweet.”

Kevin sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. Andrew turned fully, propping his elbow on the back of the couch so he could watch Kevin behind Aaron and Nicky’s heads. “Curious. You’re not freaking out, which means you already knew. Keeping secrets from us, are we?”

Kevin turned, mouth open, but Wymack beat him to the punch. “We’ve known for about two weeks. I petitioned the ERC, but there’s nothing we can do. Official reason is they’re trying to make the Southeastern district more competitive.”

“Why would the ERC allow it?” Dan asked.

“Money,” Aaron said.

Wymack nodded. “Even disregarding how much leverage the Moriyamas can exert on the ERC, its simple profit. People want to see this showdown, and they’re not going to risk missing out on a Kevin-Riko match if we don’t make finals. The public is following Exy more closely right now than ever before. The ERC is just capitalizing on it.”

“Great, so we get our ass kicked sooner rather than later,” Seth said. “Why’s that any different from business as usual?”

“It’s not,” Wymack said. “Dan, get these idiots running laps. I’m tired of listening to them talk.”

“You heard him,” Dan said, getting to her feet. “Change out.”

The team grumbled as they rose, heading for the door. Because he was watching, Andrew saw Aaron’s gaze dart over to Katelyn again, then guiltily away. Because he was watching, he saw her glance over at him, eyes considering, more intelligent than her bubbly veneer let on.

Oh, wasn’t this just delightful? How easily Aaron was tempted. A smile and a flirty laugh, and he was tied up in knots all over again.

Andrew let Katelyn catch him looking at her, giving her his biggest, most unfriendly grin before she disappeared out the door.

Anger twisted inside him like a venomous snake, spitting bitter hatred at the girl who was going to ruin everything. _Stupid_ , he thought.

Not Aaron. Him. This was only inevitable; it had happened before. But it had been over a year since Amilah. A year for him to grow complacent, to grow lax.

He stalled out next to Kevin’s chair. He hadn’t moved from his seat, staring at the wall across with a sheen on his skin that didn’t come from summer heat.

Wymack glanced at the two of them once before shaking his head and leaving the room. The door swung closed behind him, leaving a stale silence.

Andrew didn’t let it sit for long. He kicked at Kevin’s shoe, forcing him to look up into Andrew’ face. “Why so glum? Don’t tell me any of this actually comes as a surprise. I never took you for a dreamer.”

“I can’t—” Kevin pinched his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. “He won’t stop. He’s going to drag me back there, and—I’ll let him. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Andrew tutted. “Oh ye of little faith. Surely you don’t think so little of dear Wymack. Coach would pit himself against the Devil himself if he thought it would save one of his flock.”

“I can’t ask him to do that for me.”

“But you have no problems asking me? Double standards, Kev.”

 “I didn’t mean…” Kevin crumpled, shaking, a step and a half from a panic attack. “He has the whole team to worry about.”

Andrew stared over Kevin’s head, thinking about Aaron’s face when he looked at Katelyn, about promises that weren’t kept. Kevin’s hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, his breathing rough like torn paper.

“When you first arrived here, you offered me a deal,” Andrew said.

“Yes,” Kevin said, sitting up straight and staring at Andrew with desperation. “Are you suggesting—"

Andrew laughed in his face. “Needy.” He tilted his head, considering Kevin. “Do you really think you could do it?”

“Yes,” Kevin said, immediately. “You’re the most talented goalkeeper in Class I Exy.”

“It is a game, Kevin.”

“It’s a foundation. I can build you a life, a real future. Just let me.”

_You could go pro. You could be somebody._

Neil’s voice was a whisper, as clear as the day he’d said it.

_That’s your dream, not mine._

_Then borrow it till you have one of your own._

Andrew looked away, rubbing his thumb across his mouth until he realized what he was doing and tore his hand away, balling it into a fist. “And all I have to do is keep the mafia away from you. Seems fair enough.” As fair as any of the deals that had been offered to him over the years, anyway.

“You’ll do it?” Kevin asked, standing. “I swear to you—”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Andrew waved his hand, walking away. “You’ll break that promise eventually. Everyone does.”

He flung the door open. Kevin grabbed his shoulder to stop him and he twisted, bending Kevin’s arm back until he yelped in pain.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry,” Kevin gasped. “I didn’t mean…”

Andrew’s lip curled, but he released him. Kevin wasn’t a threat, even if his skin did crawl under the ghost of Kevin’s sweaty hand.  

“Do we have a deal, or not?” Kevin asked, cradling his wrist in his other hand. Still somehow trusting. _Idiot_.

He didn’t know this time if he meant Kevin or himself.

His face split into a wide grin. “Yes,” he said. “For however long that lasts.”

He dropped the door in Kevin’s face before he could say another word.

\---

Beth looked up at a knock at her bedroom door, and Teia let herself in. Beth smiled, waving her fingers and going back to the sketch she was working on. She’d been accepted to a small art school in Atlanta; not exactly the most prestigious place in the world, but it let her stay close to home.

Teia didn’t join her on the bed, but stayed near the door. Beth put down a couple more lines, frowning at the sketch. She was trying to recreate the café from memory, but the perspective looked all wrong.

“I want to break up.”

Beth’s pencil skidded out on her notes, slipping out of her fingers. “What?”

Teia looked down, still standing, arms folded. Her face was pinched unhappily. “I think we should break up,” she said again.

The air blew out of Beth’s lungs like she’d been sucker punched. “What? Why?”

Teia just kept staring at the carpet, her face resolute and miserable. Beth wracked her brain, looking for a possible reason, but she came up with nothing. Sure, they hadn’t been totally in sync recently, but it was hardly like they’d been fighting. Graduation was just stressful—

“Teia,” Beth said, cutting through her own scrambling thoughts. “Talk to me.”

Teia’s lips pinched and she took a deep breath through her nose, looking up and meeting Beth’s eyes. “I’m moving to India,” she said. “I’ve got a scholarship there to play Exy and I can live with my aunt while I go to school. So it just makes sense.”

“But…you never mentioned…”

“I wasn’t sure if I’d get it. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Beth’s voice rose without her consent. “You think I wouldn’t want to know about this?”

“You’ve been so distracted recently. You’re always on your phone, or reading the news, or something. I didn’t see the point.”

“You—” Beth could feel tears beating at the corners of her eyes and bit down on them, pressing the side of her hand to her mouth. “I’m—”

Had she been distracted? Was this her fault?

It just didn’t seem possible. They’d been together for almost two years. She choked down the knot in her throat. “We could do long distance,” she said. “We don’t have to—”

“No. I’ve thought about it.” Teia pressed her fingers into her eyes, and they came away wet. “And it’s not that I don’t care about you—”

“Then what is it?” Beth demanded.

“It’s not like we’ve exactly been the height of romance recently,” Teia snapped, temper rising.

“You never said anything! How was I supposed to know you were upset?”

“I didn’t mean—uuugh.” Teia rubbed her face, taking a steadying breath. “I didn’t come here to fight. I just think—” she swallowed, hard. “I think we’re going in different directions right now. And I know we could do long-distance but honestly? I don’t want to. I’ve thought about it, a lot and…I think this best.”

Beth struggled to breath through her hand, tears pinching out of her eyes. “How long have you known about the scholarship?”

Teia’s eyes dropped again. She hadn’t taken off her jacket or her backpack, Beth noticed. She hadn’t intended to stay. “About a month.”

Beth’s eyes shut and she took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Teia said nothing and Beth bit her lip, hard, then the bed dipped beside her and a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder. She leaned into it, not caring how pathetic she seemed. Teia’s arm wrapped around her, strong and well-muscled.

“I don’t need you to fix this,” Teia said quietly. Her hand tangled into Beth’s braids, guiding her head up so that Beth had no choice but to meet her gaze. “I love you,” Teia said. “I don’t want this to be like some big het break-up where we never speak again. But I think this is the right choice, for me. For us.”

Beth shook her head mutely, burying her face into Teia’s shoulder. Her hand kept rubbing over Beth’s back, reassuring but somehow…distant. Like a stranger holding your hair when you were drunk, or a nurse pushing your hair back to check your temperature. Her tears soaked into Teia’s thin summer jacket, running off of her nose and making a mess of her make up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Teia’s lips brushed her forehead and Beth shuddered. “Me too,” Teia murmured.

“Then don’t,” Beth said, pushing herself up to ball her fist in Teia’s jacket. “We can work this out. Just—”

“Beth,” Teia said, gently, and she cut off instantly, hot tears pushing against the backs of her eyelids.

Beth pulled back, wrapping her arms around her middle, squeezing like she could somehow compress herself into a smaller space. Disappear, collapse right out of existence.

“I know this sucks,” Teia said. “But it’s my decision. Can you understand that?”

Beth shook her head, nodded. Her hands were shaking hard, clammy and wet. She took a couple deep, trembling breaths.

“I understand,” she whispered.

Teia’s shoulders loosened. “Thanks,” she said, looking down, suddenly awkward. “I don’t…Do you want me to go?”

 _No_. “That would probably be best,” Beth said.

Teia picked herself up off the bed and collected her backpack from the floor. She paused in the doorway, looking back. “I know right now’s kinda shitty,” she said. “But we’ll be friends again, right?”

“Yeah,” Beth said, hardly able to recognize her own voice. “Of course.”

Teia flashed a quick smile and then she was gone, the door swinging closed behind her.

Beth pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing. Her drawing pad slid off her lap and thunked against the floor, making her flinch.

“Mom?” she whispered. Then, louder, “Mom?”

She pitched forward, shaking with repressed tears. Her door creaked open a second later.

“Oh, honey,” Josephine said, and then her arms were wrapped around Beth’s shoulders, firmly encircling her. Beth sagged into her embrace, her breath coming in pathetic gasps. “Sweetie, what happened?”

“Teia—” she gulped, shaking her head. “Teia—”

Her mother’s arms tightened around her. They were almost the same height, now; Beth wasn’t sure when that had happened. She buried her face against Josephine’s collarbone, shuddering. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Jo whispered, kissing her hair. “Shh. I’ve got you. Cry it out. Shh.”

Beth trembled, clutching at her shirt like she might leave as well. “It’s my fault,” she said. “My fault—”

“Don’t,” Jo said. “Don’t you play that game.” She cradled Beth’s face in her hand, wiping her cheek with her thumb. Beth closed her eyes. “This is not your fault, Beth.”

She pulled Beth in again, squeezing her against her chest. “Sometimes things are just terrible, and there’s no reason for it. Shh. It’s okay. I’m here. I love you, sweetie. Forever and ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id apologize for dropping this for two months but if youve been with me this long, youre used to that by now. 
> 
> love you guys, thanks for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iiiiiiiiit's Exy Time!!
> 
> don't think this chapter warrants any warnings, but lemme know if i missed something!

Beth: I got a package from Neil

Andrew: what the fuck did you do

Beth: chill out, I was careful

Beth: I sent him a fan letter

Andrew: what happened to not doing anything stupid

Beth: (1 image attached)

Beth: received this

Beth: came with a lighter

Andrew: let me know first next time you decide to be an idiot

Beth: let me know next time you actually do something

Beth: instead of sitting around getting into useless fights

Andrew: you are going to get people hurt

Beth: you’re welcome, by the way

Beth: at least now we know he still hates the ravens

Andrew: you have no idea what youre dealing with

Andrew: you could get someone killed

Andrew: and that someone could be you

Beth: what the actual fuck

Andrew: I will not warn you twice

Andrew: stop interfering

\---

The summer passed in fits and starts, sometimes racing ahead, sometimes dragging on and on and on like it would never end. The school year snuck up on Andrew.

Agitation vibrated in his bones. Something should have _happened_ by now. Sure, there had been some backlash from the Ravens fans, but it hadn’t been much more than bad-tempered pranks. The tip-off about the alleged meth lab in the dorms had been creative, at least, but anticlimactic.

Andrew stared out the bus window, drumming his fingers along his thigh. _He_ should’ve done something by now. He just didn’t know…what.

It was unsettling. Indecisiveness didn’t sit well with him. But Kevin was stubbornly close-lipped about the whole situation and he only had a small list of clues. One: Riko was a sadist. Two: Neil was the only one of the Ravens absolutely not allowed a phone. Three: He’d sent Beth a lighter in a box full of Ravens merchandise.

Four: Neil was not okay.

The last one was conjecture, but he couldn’t look at the mess of scars on Kevin’s hand and think otherwise.

He growled a little and hauled himself out of his seat. He made his way down the aisle of the bus, dropping into the seat behind Renee with a noisy huff.

“Hello, Andrew,” she said, smiling. Ahead of her, Dan frowned, peering backwards over her seat towards them. “Ready for the game?”

“Don’t be boring, Renee,” Andrew said. “I’m already halfway to driving this bus into a ditch myself. Ha!”

He didn’t look back to see if Aaron was listening, but the sudden restless shifting he could hear from two seats back was a pretty good sign. He grinned, draping his arms over the back of Renee’s seat. “Say, if you were going to break into a gated compound, how would you go about doing it?”

Renee didn’t bat an eye, folding her hands demurely and cocking her head at him. “Depends. What kind of security are we talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He raised his voice, angling his head back along the bus. “Oi, Kevin! What’s the security like at the Nest?”

Kevin jerked like he’d been shot. “What?”

“You were a member of a cult. What kind of nets are there to keep the birdies in? Or the vultures out.”

A frown twisted Kevin’s face. “Security guards. Alarms. The normal things. Why?”

“Kev, Kev, you poor, broken boy. Nothing about that place is normal.” He spun back around to face Renee again. “So?”

“A little vague, wouldn’t you say?”

“Presume your sources are unreliable.”

“Hm,” she said. “I suppose my first move would be to scout the area. If I don’t have insider information, I’m going to need to do my research.”

“Very practical. Times-a-ticking, though. You’ve only got a few days.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Some time-sensitive documents are in need of liberation.”

“So I’m a spy,” she said, amused. “Is there anyone I can bribe?”

Andrew tipped his hand. “Depends. How many millions do you have to spare?”

“Threats, then. My mother is an investigative journalist, after all. If they’ve got secrets worth exposing—?”

“Not bad. Indirect, but could be effective.”

“Thank you. Am I concerned about casualties?”

A smile twitched at the corner of Andrew’s mouth. “Not if you’re sure you won’t get caught.”

“What are you two talking about?” Katelyn asked.

Andrew sighed loudly, flapping his hand in her general direction without looking at her. “Mind your own business, princess. The big kids are talking.”

“It sounds like you’re plotting an assassination.”

“It’s just a thought experiment,” Renee said, at the same time as Andrew said, “And what of it?”

“No plotting murder on my bus!” Wymack shouted from the driver’s seat.

“I make no promises,” Andrew called back.

“Then at least keep the rest of these idiots out of it. I can’t spare any of them.”

Katelyn’s face creased. He wondered how she hadn’t gotten used to Wymack’s lax attitude by now. Andrew made a shooing gesture and she frowned at him for a long moment before Allison redirected her.

“This _is_ a thought experiment, isn’t it?” Renee asked.

Andrew hummed noncommittally. “Technically speaking.”

“Andrew.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry your head about it.

She pursed her lips. Her eyes, always discerning, roved his face like the answers might be painted there.

Andrew heaved a put-upon sigh and flopped back against the seat. The bus lurched forward again, bouncing through the traffic. Andrew could feel sobriety creeping into his veins; probably a placebo effect, because his meds wouldn’t wear off until first serve in two hours, but he’d take it.

Renee’s finger tapped at the top of her seat, drawing his attention. “It would probably be best to find a legal way in,” she said, “if the security is so high. They’ll be expecting people to try and break in.”

“Always strike where they least expect it,” Andrew said, musingly. “You know, if you ever get bored of evangelizing, you’d make a passingly good secret agent.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I think I will respectfully decline.”

“Your loss,” Andrew said.

Wymack slammed on the brakes again. The bus was thick with the sticky heat that clung to the trailing edge of summer. Andrew shifted his head against the seat and sweat peeled off his skin. His fingers toyed with the lighter in his pocket, feeling the familiar _EA_ engraved on the side. Beth had forwarded it to him. He kind of hated her.

He drew it out, flicking the striker. The tiny flame wobbled upwards. He passed his fingers through it, enjoying the spark of heat on his fingertips. It flickered out and he dropped it into his lap, staring out the window. His hands twitched. Outside the bus, the city crawled by. Honks and distant sirens weaselled into every corner of his mind.

“Ten minutes,” Wymack said.

\---

Nausea ate its way through Neil’s stomach.

He smoothed his jersey for the millionth time, inspecting his racquet for flaws. He and Jean had polished all the racquets yesterday, but his eyes kept moving over it obsessively. There was a small nick just under the head of the racquet and he pressed his thumb into it, feeling the smooth wax against his nail.

Jean nudged his side. Neil grimaced and dragged his eyes up to meet Jean’s concerned ones. “What?”

“Can you handle this?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Jean said. “But it will be easier if you tell me where you are.”

Neil rubbed his thumb over the dent in his racquet again. “I’m not good enough for starting lineup,” he said.

“True,” Jean said. “But you also don’t have a choice.”

“I know.” Neil took a deep breath, blowing air out through his nose. “I know.”

There was no point going over this again. He was going to fail; the Ravens would shame him. If he wasn’t Perfect Court, it wouldn’t matter so much. Because he was, there would be no escaping the vitriol that would spew his way when he embarrassed the team.

He rolled his shoulders out, resting his head against the wall. The familiar black and red walls of the Nest stood around him, impassive and indifferent. The championship trophy gleamed at him from across the room.

“Tell me again,” he said.

Jean didn’t look convinced, but he slipped into French, running through the opposing strikers’ statistics in his rolling accent. He kept his voice low, so they heard footsteps approaching before the Ravens flooded into the waiting room.

“Ready for your debut?” Riko asked, striding across the room.

Neil shrugged.

Riko’s grin didn’t falter. “Warm-ups are in five minutes. Try not to embarrass us.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Neil said. “I’m sure you’ll manage to embarrass us all on your own.”

Riko slapped him.

Neil didn’t try to dodge. He knew just how to relax his body to take most of the sting out of the blow, but it still hurt. He took a slow breath, raising his head to look Riko directly in the eye.

Riko’s jaw clenched. Neil smiled.

“Riko!”

Tetsuji stood in the entrance to the court, his suit perfectly tailored and ironed to sharpness. He inclined his head ever so slightly towards the door. From Tetsuji, that was practically a shout.

Riko glowered but followed Tetsuji’s gesture. Jean sighed. “Why—”

“He can’t hurt us right before the game,” Neil said. “He needs us functional.”

“That does not mean he will not remember what you said _after_ the game.”

Neil knew that. He wasn’t stupid.

It was just this—his voice, his temper—was the only thing remaining that still belonged to him. If he gave it up, Riko won.

Riko glared across the room at him.

It was possible Riko had won anyway.

“Line up,” Riko ordered. The Ravens moved into position with grave silence. They weren’t here to play; they were here to slaughter.

Neil’s heart kicked up a notch as he heard the booming reverberations of the Edgar Allan fight song. The ground trembled as the screaming fans above them crashed down as one, a deep, thunderous quake that rolled across the entire stadium.

Tetsuji folded his hands on his cane and surveyed the team with a sense of mild dissatisfaction. “You know what you are here to do,” he said. “JD Campbell is not worth the time it will take to put them out of their misery, but that is no reason to slacken your efforts. I expect a double-digit-score as a bare minimum. Defence, if you allow more than five goals you will forfeit your free time next week for the practice you clearly require.”

He nodded curtly and walked away without further fanfare. Neil heard hisses and whispers down the line behind him but didn’t turn to look. He was the weak link in their defence line; if they had extra practices next week, it would be on his head.

“You heard him,” Riko said. “Allow more than five goals, and I’ll take the extra out of your skins. We’re on the outer court for warm-ups. Let’s show them what a real team looks like.”

Neil sucked in a deep breath and strode forward, following Jean into the entryway. The crowd erupted into screams as they broke into a jog, heading for the outer court for their warm-up. Riko grinned, waving at the crowd. Their screams crescendoed as the entire Raven lineup spread out around the court. Neil could almost taste their bloodlust.

His eyes drifted towards the court walls. Inside them, JD was running warm-up laps. Usually, the home team wore lighter colours, and the away darker, but the Ravens’ home uniforms were red with only a trimming of white. JD’s blue and gold looked garish beside them. Small pockets of blue-clad fans dotted the stands, swamped by the vast swathes of fans in black and red. 

His blood still rose. _Finally_ , some part of him breathed. _Finally_.

He wasn’t good enough to be here, but he was going to play. Not a scrimmage, not a practice. A real game.

They veered into the court for drills long before the buzzing in Neil’s legs felt sated. Neil fell in beside Jean, passing ricochets up the line of the wall. The balls cracked against the plexiglass in a beating rhythm that was quickly taken up by the crowd. They stomped loud enough to shake the rafters.

The drills lasted only a few minutes, and Neil didn’t fumble once. He knew, logically, that Tetsuji designed their warm-up routine like that, to look difficult enough to intimidate but be routine enough that the Ravens wouldn’t fuck up, but it felt _right_. He streamed off the court in a line of red and black, and they collected in the waiting room.

A deathly silence fell. The Ravens stretched out and drank prepared electrolytes without a word. Neil could see the cracks, though. Jenkins couldn’t keep still, constantly adjusting her jersey. Engle, who was to be paired with Riko in Kevin’s absence, stood beside her like a statue, his lips moving as he recited some kind of mantra. Jean accepted a Gatorade from one of the freshmen who were tasked with servicing the upperclassmen when they weren’t playing. His face maintained a veneer of calm, fear lingering behind his eyes.

The time before first serve disappeared like smoke. Neil’s knee vibrated with unrestrained energy. Even Riko’s mocking smile couldn’t dampen his excitement.

An attendant called for the starting line up and Neil shot off of his chair, his breath already coming fast in his chest. He fell in behind Jean and then they were running out, one at a time, the announcer calling out names and numbers that were hardly audible above the roaring crowd.

“Number four, Neeeeeeeil Josten!”

Neil barely restrained himself from sprinting down the hallway to the court. His body thrummed, the din of the crowd setting his bones alight. He raised his racquet and the crowd screamed.

His feet thumped against the floor of the court. The sounds of cheering cut off as the court door swung shut behind them, only a dim rumble filtering through the plexiglass. Riko met the opposing captain at the centre line for the coin toss. Neil fell into place across from JD’s starting striker, bouncing on his toes.

He chewed on the edge of his mouthguard as the ref raised Riko’s hand to indicate that the Ravens had won first serve. The captains shook hands and parted ways, returning to their starting spots.

The referee passed the Raven dealer the ball. Sweat prickled the back of Neil’s jersey and his breath came short. Time was moving too fast. His eyes jumped to his mark, Scott Latimer. Five-foot-nine, four years experience in the NCAA, eight years previous in school and state Exy.

He eyed Neil, looking green. Neil’s brows furrowed as he set his mouthguard properly on his teeth. Latimer looked… _intimidated_.

By Neil?

The ball _cracked_ as the dealer shot it up the court and Neil burst into motion. Latimer dodged around him, aiming for centre court. The ball hit the net of Riko’s racquet and he passed it on almost instantly. Neil followed Latimer, shadowing his movements as the ball ricocheted between the Raven strikers, never setting down long enough to be dislodged.

Engle took a shot. Neil’s muscles tensed, instincts pinging. He shoved his entire body in front of Latimer’s as JD’s goalie swatted the ball up the court towards them.

The ball arced through the air, too high for Neil to reach. He reacted without thinking. He twisted to sprint directly at Latimer as the ball flew into his outstretched racquet.

Three steps. The ball hit Latimer’s net at the same moment Neil bowled into him, driving his shoulder directly into his gut. His helmet crashed into Latimer’s armour, the impact jamming his teeth into his mouthguard, but Latimer didn’t go down.

The ball popped free.

Neil’s feet aligned under him. Muscle memory from a thousand drills let him swoop beneath Latimer’s arm and scoop the ball up from the ground before Latimer could react. He pinpointed Jean in a heartbeat and let his racquet swing.

The ball shot across the court and into Jean’s net. He passed it up to the dealer, who ricocheted it off the wall into Riko’s net.

The entire exchange had lasted maybe four seconds.

Neil’s blood felt like it was boiling. Euphoria burned away his nerves. His gloves were soaked from the inside and his helmet felt slick where it brushed the sides of his face.

Latimer tried to make a break, but Neil followed him easily. He was so _slow._ He telegraphed his every change in direction with his body, and Neil didn’t need to think to predict his movements.

The buzzer blared and the goal lit up red as Riko’s slammed home their first goal of the season. Neil and Latimer came to a standstill, chests heaving as one of JD’s backliners fetched the ball.

“Not bad, for a rookie,” Latimer said, breathless.

Neil blinked, peering at him. His smile was tight and anxious. The Ravens had scored in the first five minutes, and JD’s strikers had barely touched the ball at all.

A slow grin stretched across Neil’s face. Latimer’s smile faltered in the face of the Butcher’s grin, Neil’s red mouthguard like blood dripping from his teeth.

Neil shook his head, his cheeks aching from grinning as he fell into a ready stance. Among the Ravens, he was below-average, his inexperience making him clumsy and childlike on their court.

He’d forgotten, somehow, that the Ravens were exceptional. The worst of them were still a cut above the rest.  

JD’s dealer flung the ball up the court. Neil was already moving, a step and a half ahead of Latimer. The striker cursed, scrambling after him, but he couldn’t keep up with Neil’s speed. Neil stretched his racquet out and the ball dropped into his net. He passed it sideways, knowing Jean would be there without having to look.

Latimer crashed into him a second after the ball left his racquet. He slammed into the ground, rolling with the motion. Pain shot through his ribs as he lurched upright. The ball cracked against the wall across the court and the hair on Neil’s neck stood up like he was standing in a lightning storm.

His heart pounded against his chest as he broke into a sprint. After the game, there would be the Ravens; there would be Riko, and pain.

But in this moment, there was only Exy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: _No offense to your sources, Kathy, but they can eat my entire ass._
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the much anticipated "Kathy Interview"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess hiatus is officially over now! mostly because i can't resist posting this any longer lmao
> 
> so! yall know what youre getting into! all the canon warnings for the kathy scene, plus a hell of a lot of hopeless pining and denial. as always, let me know if you want something else tagged!

The wind slapped Neil’s face like a stinging whip. He sucked in a deep breath, shocked into lucidity.

The night shone around him. Stars flickered distantly, filtering through the smog and glow of the city. A faint hum reverberated from the floodlights. Neil tipped his head back, the fresh air burning his lungs.

A hand shoved him forward. Neil bit down a hiss of pain as his muscles flared in protest. Every bone in his body felt bruised from the game against JD. The Ravens had won—obviously—but JD had gotten increasingly desperate over the course of the game, and even they had picked up on Neil’s inexperience. He’d been a target for the entire second half.

Neil stumbled across the gravel path. Jean glanced back at him, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. The other Ravens had stayed up late celebrating, and while they hadn’t participated, they hadn’t been able to relax either. Raven celebrations got out of hand too easily.

At the security guard’s gesture, they slid into the back of one of the branded black cars the Master kept. Riko disappeared into the next car with the Master, his black jacket rumpled stylishly. The red trim shimmered under the streetlights.

Neil rested his head against the window. He knew he should try to sleep, but his eyes kept snapping back open. The driver started the car, a hollow rumble beneath them. Neil swallowed, staring out at the lawn. He hadn't seen the outside world for...months. He couldn't even remember when he'd last seen daylight that wasn't tinted by fear.

They pulled out of the compound. The great iron gates swung inwards with an electronic buzz. Jean curled up beside him, asleep almost instantly. Neil's eyes traced the streets as they wound their way through the sleepy university district. A few vagrants and students still wandered the streets, but most were long fallen into their beds.

The cool window sent sparks through his skull. His eyes kept drifting shut, then bumping open at the slightest dip in the road.

He was _out_. If he could just run—

Stupid. _Stupid_.

Riko would be ready for that. His chin hit his chest and he woke again with a start. Tiredness grated at every nerve ending. Riko hadn't told him where they were going. Jean knew, but had been unusually tight-lipped. The anxiety in his eyes when he woke Neil at midnight was enough to dissuade any questions. 

When he slept, his dreams were nervous creatures, skirting the edges of his consciousness.

They didn't stop for hours. Dawn oozed into the car, casting the small space in grayscale. Neil wondered how far they were going; they'd already crossed state lines twice.

The car veered into an exit lane, the driver—who had, as yet, still not said a single word—cruising up the off-ramp and steering them deftly through a commercial zone. Multi-storey buildings populated the strict grid of streets, glass windows gleaming. A few cars were out, but the streets were still mainly empty.

Neil gnawed on the inside of his cheek. His stomach turned over, complaining audibly.

A part of him felt a little relieved, though. They’d stopped in North Carolina; he’d been worried, when they kept driving south.

They pulled into a parking lot in front of a bulky, shimmering glass building. The logo on it was a five-feet-high, something about media in a weird script that Neil didn’t feel like deciphering. The driver rolled down his window, presenting credentials to a security booth and receiving a parking pass in return. Neil’s watch read 6:00 a.m.

“Interview?” he asked as Jean peeled himself off the seat, rubbing sleep-gunk out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yes,” Jean said simply, climbing out the door. Neil frowned, following. That didn’t seem to warrant this amount of secrecy.

His eyes dragged across the parking lot and lit on a bright orange bus.

Air froze in his chest. His feet stuck to the ground, refusing to move forward.

“Jean,” he choked out.

Jean stopped, his eyes following Neil’s. There was no surprise in his expression. “Move,” he said.

“ _Jean_ ,” Neil said through gritted teeth. “I can’t—”

His eyes flitted over to where the Master and Riko were climbing out of the second car. Jean sighed, trudging back to Neil and stopping in front of him. He kept his voice low, so it wouldn’t carry. “You can, and you will.”

Neil shook his head, his throat closing. If the Foxes were here, Kevin was here. And if Kevin was here—

“Do not give him any more ammunition,” Jean said. “You _must_ do this. He wants you to break. Do not let him.”

Elastic bands squeezed his chest, but he let Jean push him forward.

Riko’s smile was vicious when they caught up to him by the door. Tetsuji handed visitor passes to each of them. Neil hung his around his neck numbly.

Tetsuji handed Neil a piece of paper. Neil glanced over it, his stomach still shaking. There was a series of banal interview questions, already filled in with Tetsuji’s sharp script. “You may improvise the exact wording,” Tetsuji said, “but you understand the stakes.”

“Yes, Master,” Neil mumbled, not looking at Riko. Jean was right. He couldn’t give him the gratification.

An aide stepped outside, a bland, robotic smile on his face. “Hello! Sorry, Kathy couldn’t greet you herself, she’s just getting a few things sorted before the show. We’re so excited to have you here with us today.”

Riko’s smile was oily enough to slide right off. “The pleasure is all ours.”

The aide nodded politely and let them into the building. He led Riko and Neil into a small changing room, taking a few rapid measurements of legs and arms before disappearing. Neil tucked his chin and watched Riko through hooded eyes. He didn’t sit.

Riko lounged against the opposite wall, still smiling. Neil wondered what he’d look like with blood running down from his nose.

“Are you ready to meet your public, Nathaniel?”

Neil shrugged. “I don’t have a public.”

“You do. Your name is the third most searched in NCAA Exy as of this morning. Flattering, don’t you think?”

Neil’s stomach lurched. His father had been arrested nearly six months ago now, but the idea of being in the public eye—more than he already was, anyway—was nothing short of nauseating. He shrugged again. “It doesn’t concern me,” he lied. “They’re interested in the Ravens, not me.”

Riko’s smirk said that he saw through Neil’s nonchalant façade, but he changed tacks. “How do you think Kevin will cope?”

“How should I know?”

“I thought after all your little late-night _assignations_ , perhaps you had a little insight.”

Neil gave him a blank stare. Kevin had trained Neil in the gaps between practices for almost a year, but Riko’s tone didn’t seem right for that. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course,” Riko said, amused. “You really think I didn’t notice him sneaking out of our room at night? Perhaps I should have seen it coming.”

“You think Kevin and I were…” Neil’s eyebrows wrinkled. “He was _training_ me.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Riko demanded.

Neil bit down on a _yes_ which would be unproductive right now.

His eyes must have said it for him, because Riko scowled and straightened. “Well, we will find out soon enough, won’t we? I wonder how he’ll deal with seeing you on the stage with him.”

Poorly, Neil was sure. The door opened and Jean slipped in, carrying a bag of pre-packed breakfast. Neil was too nauseous to be hungry any more, but he forced himself to eat half an egg wrap and gulp down some water.

The aide returned with clothes a minute later and Jean gave Neil a look before following the aide out the door. Neil couldn’t parse Jean’s expression well enough to read it. He turned his back, stripping down and changing into the provided clothes. The shirt was a navy blue under the pitch of the jacket; it was a little refreshing to wear something that wasn’t red, even if it was stiff and uncomfortable.

He shook that thought out. He really was slipping, if a colour was all it took to make him sentimental. A pair of make-up artists entered the room and Neil sat in the chair indicated mutely.

“Heya, gorgeous,” the woman said, running her fingernails through Neil’s hair. He shuddered a little, involuntarily.

She dropped her hands immediately, perfectly drawn eyebrows pinching together. “You’re looking a bit peaky,” she said. She flipped open her make-up kit, returning armed with a colour palette and a brush. “Nervous?”

Neil shrugged. She took that as an agreement and gave him a surprisingly gentle smile. “The first one’s always the worst,” she said. “Just focus on Kathy and pretend the crowd’s not there. You’ll be fine.”

It took Neil two tries to force a bland _thank you_ through his dry throat. She brushed some powders over his face and wet a comb to smooth out his hair. He closed his eyes, listening to Riko charming the life out of the girl doing his make-up. The scent of lemongrass perfume lingered in the air as the make-up artist flitted around him.

Someone poked their head in the door. “Ten minutes.”

Neil was going to be sick.

The make-up artist squeezed his shoulder in support before she too disappeared. Neil scanned the paper of answers that Tetsuji had given him. The answers kept slipping out of his mind like scurrying mice, hiding in dark corners. He was a former foster child; a charity case. A pull-your-heartstrings humble beginnings success story. He was a fraud.

The minutes vanished through his fingers. An aide led them to the back of the stage, stopping them a few feet behind a wide curtain. Light filtered through pinpricks in the fabric. Riko was still grinning, but there was nothing happy in the expression.

“Live in ten seconds—” the aide said, holding up his fingers and mouthing the numbers. Neil couldn’t breathe.

Music blared out. Applause erupted and Neil twisted his fingers into his shirt sleeve.

“Thank you!” Kathy Ferdinand said. Even from behind the curtain, Neil could hear her toothy grin. “Thank you! I am _so_ excited to be here today with a very special guest. But first, how many of you here watched the debut to the NCAA Exy season last night?”

Neil tuned out the inane chatter. He breathed in, slow and controlled, letting the rising cheers vanish into white noise. His eyes fell closed and his heart thrummed in his chest like a hummingbird.

He knew when Kevin was introduced because of the insane screaming of the crowd. Kevin’s voice cut through everything else when he hit the stage. “Thanks for the kind words, Kathy,” he said. Neil could hear shuffling as they moved around and settled onto the couches. “It’s good to be back.”

“It is so amazing to see you up here on my stage once again,” she said. “Whoever would have thought so much could have changed since I last saw you?”

“It’s been a crazy year,” Kevin agreed.

“How about that game last night? The Foxes took a bit of a beating.”

“It was definitely a tough start to the season,” Kevin said. Neil bit the inside of his cheek, a small, hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest. He’d seen snippets of the Fox game last night; he could well imagine what Kevin was thinking under his press-ready exterior. “But I’m confident we’re only going to move up. We went up against one of the toughest teams in the district last night, and we’ve got a firm grasp of where we need to go next.”

“You sound like you’re gunning for a trophy,” Kathy said.

“Everyone in the league is,” Kevin said. “If you aren’t playing with the intent to win, you shouldn’t be playing.”

“Those are fighting words. Do you think the Foxes can back them up?”

“The Foxes have potential,” Kevin replied. “I wouldn’t be with them if I didn’t think so.”

“I’ll admit, it was pretty strange last night, seeing you in orange instead of red. Why the decision to stick to the Foxes? As excited as I am for the upcoming season, I can’t help but feel like you’re on the wrong court.”

There was a brief quiet. Neil could hear the murmurs and shifting of the crowd. “The past year has been…difficult, as you can well imagine. I built my life on Exy. Thinking I’d lost that…I couldn’t stay at Edgar Allan. It was too painful.”

Neil imagined Kathy patting Kevin’s knee, eyes sorrowful. In his mind's eye, her teeth were pointed. “I can’t even imagine,” she said. “So are we looking at a permanent switch here?”

“I would like to stay at Palmetto as long as Coach Wymack will have me,” Kevin said, tone deceptively even.

 _Deflecting_ , Neil thought.

“That must be a tough pill to swallow for Riko. What does he think of your decision to stay at Palmetto State?”

Another brief pause. “I couldn’t say,” Kevin said.

“You haven’t spoken to him about it?” she asked, all fake surprise.

“Like I said. My injury was difficult for all of us to bear. Riko and I did not deal with it well, perhaps, but we dealt with it the only way we could at the time.”

“I don’t mean to assume, but are you implying that you and Riko haven’t spoken _at all_ since December?”

For the first time, a real sense of strain entered Kevin’s voice. “You would assume correctly.”

“Then do I ever have a surprise for you!” Kathy’s voice rang across the small stage as the Edgar Allan fight song rose in the background. Neil softly breathed curse went unheard as he realized what he should have seen the second they’d arrived.

Kevin hadn’t known this was coming any more than he had.

The aide counted down his fingers and waved for Riko to enter the stage. Neil shoved past, following hot on Riko’s heels. He felt the aide grasp at his arm, but he shook him off, stumbling as he chased Riko into the glaring lights.

Riko’s arm went up in a wave and he smiled at the crowds with his biggest, most winning smile, but he cut Neil a sharp glance. There was nothing he could do on live television, however; Neil raised his hand and gave the cameras a pained grimace.

Kathy blinked in surprise as not one but two Ravens darkened her stage, but she rallied with the speed of a professional con-woman. Kevin’s eyes were wide with terror.

Riko strode across the stage, pulling Kevin up and into a crushing hug. The crowds roared so loud that Neil couldn’t hear whatever Riko whispered in his ear; all he knew was when they broke apart, Kevin was pale beneath his make up.

Neil cut in front of Riko and to shake Kevin’s hand. His palm was damp with sweat but Neil squeezed, hard, and felt Kevin give him a weak squeeze in return. He met Kevin’s eyes with his mouth set and nodded before releasing his hand. Kevin dropped back onto his couch, heavy and uncoordinated. Neil took his place beside Riko and settled onto the couch across from Kevin.

“It’s been too long,” Riko said, as the cheers died out.

Kevin nodded as though he was being choked. “It has,” he managed.

“My gosh,” Kathy said, propping her chin on her hand and smiling fondly. “I can’t even tell you how much we’ve all missed you two together.”

“It couldn’t be as much as we’ve missed each other,” Riko said. The audience cooed.

“And Neil Josten,” Kathy said, a teasing sparkle in her eye. “You were supposed to wait for your cue.”

“Sorry,” Neil said blithely. “First interview jitters. Do they always keep it this hot up here?”

Kathy laughed along with the crowd, but Neil could see a venomous spark in her eye. He’d interfered, drawn the attention away from her big reunion scene. He drew on the belligerent part of him that revelled in causing trouble and gave her a wide smile in return.

“You get used to the lights,” she said. “Could everyone help me welcome Neil Josten, freshman backliner for the Edgar Allan Ravens, and the newest addition to Riko Moriyama’s Perfect Court!”

The crowd cheered, a few people stamping their feet like they had for Riko, though not nearly so loud. Neil raised a hand and had no choice but to look out across the crowd. The lights glimmered into his eyes for an instant before the crowd came into focus.

His breathing stopped. The Foxes were seated front and centre.

Andrew’s gaze met his like fire met gasoline. For a moment Neil couldn’t move, couldn’t even keep waving. The Foxes had Andrew restrained, their senior goalie practically pinning him down, her hand over his mouth. Fury surged in Neil’s stomach. How dare they touch Andrew like that—

He ripped his eyes away, settling his gaze back on Kathy. Her smile was as shark-like as he’d imagined. Air didn’t seem to reach his lungs properly. He could feel Andrew’s eyes burning a hole through the side of his head.

Kathy propped her head on her hand. “Kevin, how does it feel to see Riko partnered once again?”

“We’re not partners,” Neil interrupted. “I’m paired with Jean.”

“Of course,” Kathy said patronizingly, trying to move back onto Kevin and Riko. “Riko, what made you recruit Neil, after the accident? I would have thought you’d have been too preoccupied.”

Riko took the question smoothly. “We can’t afford to slow down, not even for Kevin. Besides, we recruited Neil over a year ago—it wouldn’t have made sense to delay his debut.”

“So you two have already met,” Kathy said, gesturing between Kevin and Neil.

“Unfortunately,” Neil said.

Kathy looked taken aback. Riko’s smile tightened. “And what is that supposed to mean?” Kathy said.

“Kevin’s dirty secret is that he’s an absolute nightmare to work with on the court,” Neil said conspiratorially.

Kathy laughed, delighted, and the audience followed suit. Riko’s hand landed on Neil’s leg, out of sight of the cameras, and dug in. Neil smiled through it, his fathers grin cutting into his face.

“Is that so?” Kathy asked.

Neil nodded. “The minute the court doors close, he’s a completely different person. You wouldn’t even recognize him. I’m honestly surprised the Foxes have put up with him this long.”

There were a few titters, and something that sounded distinctly like an amused snort from the front row. Neil resolutely did not look.

“I imagine it’s difficult to work with a star,” Kathy said. “Kevin, what do you have to say to that?”

“I have exacting standards,” Kevin said. His voice had recovered some of its normal timbre; Neil had bought him enough time to collect himself.

“You had a bit of a tussle with Seth Gordon last night at the game, no? Is that what that was all about?”

Kevin shrugged. “It’s part of it. Gordon refuses to reconcile his playing style with mine. It has led to some…”

“Conflict,” Kathy finished for him. “But you never had those sorts of problems with the Ravens.”

“The Ravens have a different outlook,” Riko interjected. Neil was surprised he’d managed to keep his mouth shut for that long. “It is unsurprising that Kevin is having trouble adjusting to a team which is notorious for its…uncouth approach.”

“And what do you think of Kevin’s new team? You must be proud of him for coming back after such a devastating injury.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Kathy,” Riko said. “I am concerned. I know Kevin better than anyone, and I know he won’t accept anything but the best from himself. I don’t want to see him break himself again over an unachievable dream. This experiment with the Foxes…I am afraid that it can’t end well.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Kevin’s place is with the Ravens. I am sorry for my behaviour after Kevin’s injury, but he never should have left Edgar Allan.”

“You would let me back on the team?” Kevin asked.

It was such a stupid, hopeless question that Neil scoffed. Fortunately—or unfortunately—his reaction was masked by Riko’s. “You know we can’t do that. But there will always be a place for you on our staff. Is it so wrong to want my brother back?”

The crowd _awwwwed_ and Neil rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement also managed to jostle Riko’s hand a little. Kathy caught Neil’s movement and latched on.

“Neil, you don’t look impressed.”

“I don’t see why Kevin would want to come back to the Ravens,” he said. “He won’t get to play. If it was me—” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t be running back anytime soon.”

Kevin’s eyes—which had been fixed on Riko the entire time—turned to face Neil. He levelled his gaze in response, trying to make Kevin understand. _You can’t come back; you can never come back._

Riko’s hand clamped on his leg again and he had to stifle a flinch. “What Neil means is—”

“I said what I meant,” Neil snapped.

“Neil,” Riko said, tone sharp. “I’ll ask you once to calm down.”

“You knew I had an attitude problem when you recruited me,” Neil said. “You don’t get to get annoyed now when I speak my mind. The Ravens want to bury Kevin. You can dress that up in pretty words all you like, but that won’t change the facts.”

Kevin cleared his throat. Kathy swivelled to face him, her eyes glowing with anticipation. Neil imagined she would be getting pretty good value for this interview. He swallowed down a whimper as Riko’s fingers dug into his leg so hard they would leave bruises.

“I am going to play,” Kevin said. “If that means staying with the Foxes—then I say again. I will stay as long as Wymack will let me.”

“It will never be the same,” Riko said.

“I think,” Kevin said, “that’s something I need to find out for myself.”

Neil’s smile sharpened for a moment into something real. Riko fumed next to him.

Kathy fanned herself. “My god, you boys will be the death of me,” she said. “When is your first match? October?”

“October thirteenth,” Neil supplied.

“And it’s going to be a personal one for more than just Riko and Kevin, isn’t that true?”

Neil breathed tightly through his smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t be coy, Neil,” Kathy said. “I have my sources. Word is that Andrew Minyard is the one that taught you Exy in the first place. You could even say he’s the reason you’ve got a scholarship.”

“No offence to your sources, Kathy,” Neil said, “but I’ve been playing Exy since I was six years old.”

 _Truth_.

He didn’t look at the crowd, even though he could hear movement there. He did _not_ look.

“No? I have multiple people—”

“Minyard and I went to the same high school briefly,” Neil interjected. “While it’s true we’ve practiced on the same court, to say that he taught me the sport would be a gross overstatement.”

 _Truth_.

The best kind of truth—the kind that was just lie-adjacent; the kind of truth that excised everything real. The kind of truth Neil was best at.

He _did_ _not look_.

“But you did know him, then? What do you think about playing against him on the court?”

Neil shrugged. “Minyard is a formidable goalie. Fortunately, that’s not my problem—and to be quite honest, I’m not really concerned about the Foxes offence line.”

 Kathy covered a smile and glanced to Kevin as if looking for a repartee. Neil cocked his head in challenge. Kevin visibly struggled, searching for something positive to say. “I’ll admit the Foxes have far to go—”

“Far to go?” Riko said. “They are a laughingstock. They aren’t worth your time.”

“Not every superstar was born into the spotlight,” Kevin said. “More and more, I find myself more interested in the ones who managed to claw their way up from the bottom.”

“Wow,” Neil said. “You didn’t come up with that one on your own. Who taught you that?”

Kevin set his jaw and lifted his chin, just a hair. “David Wymack.”

“The words of a deluded optimist haven’t changed the Foxes ranking,” Riko said. “You can’t make diamonds out of rocks. It’s not possible.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Kevin said.

“And I, for one, am at the edge of my seat!” Kathy said. “We’ll have to do this again after your match—I’m sure there’s going to be a lot to talk about! But that’s all the time we have for today. Could everyone give a rousing thank you to our amazing guests!”

The crowd went wild, screaming and shouting as Kathy got to her feet, pulling Kevin up with her. Riko and Neil followed a beat later, waving at the theatre. The cameras zoomed and panned a few feet away. Neil kept his smile pasted on as Kathy kissed both of his cheeks and then finally someone called a cut.

“That was incredible,” Kathy said, the greedy gleam in her eye sparkling. “Thank you so much. You can keep the clothes, my treat.”

Kevin gave a weak nod and retreated across the stage, mumbling something about a glass of water.

Neil blocked Riko from following, pushing him in front of Kathy. She latched on with alacrity. “Riko, I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “Bringing Neil along was a stroke of genius. A little controversy always keeps the stage lively.”

Riko visibly craned his neck to see where Kevin had gone. “I can assure you there won’t be a repeat,” he said distractedly.

“Oh, no!” Kathy said. “He’s perfect! A fresh view of Edgar Allan from the inside. Perhaps he could use a little press training—” She dropped a wink in Neil’s direction. “—but the public is going to love him.”

“Thanks,” Neil muttered. All the panic he’d balled up and shoved into the back of his head during the interview was unravelling. He’d said _that_. He’d contradicted Riko on live TV.

He was so fucked.

“Pardon me, Kathy,” Riko said. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Of course, just down that hall—”

Riko brushed past her, intent on his goal. Kathy tried to nab Neil, but he followed close at Riko’s heels. The collar of his suit squeezed at his throat. The second they reached the corridor Riko’s hand clamped onto Neil’s forearm, fingers digging in. “You are going to regret every word you said on that stage,” he hissed. “You are going to wish you were never born.”

“Business as usual, then,” Neil muttered, but Riko had already released him; he was hunting bigger prey right now. Neil chased after him, his arm throbbing in pain.

“Kevin!” Riko said as they rounded a corner.

Kevin froze at the far end of the hallway, eyes wide. The naked terror in his eyes shone as he cast around for help.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye,” Riko said. “Were you?”

He strode towards Kevin. Neil followed, though to do what, he didn’t know. They were barely ten feet away when the door beside Kevin burst open.

Andrew spread his arms out wide like he was inviting Riko for a hug. He was nearly a full foot shorter than Kevin, but he set himself between Kevin and Riko like an immovable wall, teeth bared in a grin that was anything but friendly.

Neil reeled back. He’d heard about Andrew’s medication, of course. It was different to see it. Riko ground to a stop ahead of him, expression hardening.

“Riko!” Andrew said cheerfully. His voice sounded all wrong. Neil felt sick. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but mother always taught us not to tell lies—not that it did her much good in the end!”

Riko lanced a vicious look over Andrew’s shoulder at Kevin. “Get your dog under control,” he snarled.

Andrew tutted. “Manners, Riko.”

“Andrew, don’t—” Kevin said, his voice horrible and choked.

“No, I’m curious,” Andrew said. “Your shadow’s awfully quiet. And he had so much to say up on stage too. What is it—cat got your tongue?”

Andrew’s eyes lit on Neil’s for the first time. Neil opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t get any words out. His mouth was dry as kindling. There were so many things he needed to say. _I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I would have warned you if I could have._

_Thank you._

_Don’t throw it away._

“He knows his place,” Riko said. “It is past time you learned yours.”

Andrew’s gaze blackened and he lunged towards Riko, a blade appearing in his hand. Neil threw himself in between them, blocking Andrew’s swing with his forearm. Andrew snarled and shoved at him, but Neil dug his heels in, Andrew’s knife frozen in the air six inches from the side of his head.

He was so close Neil could feel Andrew’s breath against his face. He braced himself, not letting any weakness show as he set his teeth into a vicious hiss and slipped into German.

“ _It’s not your job to protect me anymore_.”

The fury in Andrew’s face flattened out in a heartbeat, hazel eyes cast in shadow. Neil’s heart skipped a beat. For an instant he was back in his old building, Andrew’s expression blank as freshly fallen snow. The edge of the blade glittered in the fluorescent lights.

Andrew shoved Neil backwards and laughed, bright and mocking. Neil flinched like he’d been slapped. “Come on, Kevin,” he said. “I’m bored of this game. I don’t think your old friends play fair.”

Kevin shot Riko another frightened glance, but Andrew pushed him towards the door with one hand, keeping his knife and his grin firmly pointed at the Ravens. Neil watched, helpless, as Kevin and Andrew disappeared through the doorway.

He couldn’t feel his hands. Andrew had been close enough to touch, to breathe in, and it already felt unreal.

Riko’s hand caught him on the side of the head and he hit the wall like a mannequin, stiff and clumsy. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

Neil stumbled to his feet, head ringing. “I don’t know,” he said.

 _Lie_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *accidentally forgets that I was supposed to mention that Nathan was arrested*  
> *subtly slips it in four chapters later*  
> Me: yup. Totes profesh. Im _on_ this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil + unhealthy coping mechanismsTM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE MIND THE CONTENT WARNINGS
> 
> This chapter is a bit weird. There’s some vague sexual content; it’s all consensual but its not terribly…comfortable. If you want a more specific rundown than that, there’s a summary in the endnotes and feel free to send me an ask/message over on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/writingpuddle) any time.

Jean still hadn’t spoken to him when they got back to the Nest several hours after the disastrous interview. Neil honestly couldn’t blame him. If he’d had an ounce of self-preservation in him, he’d have kept his mouth firmly shut.

He climbed stiffly out of the vehicle and followed Jean inside. Riko and Tetsuji’s car was already here, though he didn’t see them anywhere.

He tipped his head upward and drank in the grey, smoky sky. The air was impossibly cool compared to the stale state of the Nest. The door clanged shut behind him and he descended the stairs slowly, like the outside world had him by the collar and was trying to drag him back.  

Jean turned around when they reached their room, his phone in one hand. “Riko and the Master have gone out. They will return in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Neil said, hiding his relief. It would be a short-lived reprieve, but he knew better than to take it for granted. Jean didn’t look at him again, just pushed his way into the bathroom. The door locked behind him with a click.

Neil flopped onto his back on the bed, undoing a couple buttons on his collared shirt before giving it up as a bad job. He stared up at the black ceiling, watching the fan swing round and round monotonously. The shower cut on, a soft, grey noise in the background.

The fan swung ever onwards. Neil’s eyes slipped closed. For the first time in days, he was actually alone.

He gave in, letting the memories wash over him. Andrew, glaring up at him from the crowd. Andrew, laughing in his face. Andrew, ready to cut Riko for implying the slightest threat against Neil.

Longing welled up in his throat. For that one second, the real Andrew had managed to slip around the gates of his medications to meet Neil’s gaze. No—medication wasn’t the right word. The drugs Andrew was on had nothing to do with his health. They were punishment, pure and simple; an archaic sort of torture.

Neil wanted to strip time back to before everything went wrong. His mind flitted back to his last birthday before Riko, when Andrew had pulled him into his bedroom and kissed all the way down his chest and all the way up his thighs and—

His eyes snapped open. There was no _way_ he was feeling horny right now. That was impossible.

It was just that it had been so long since anyone had touched him other than to hurt him or to clean his wounds, and Andrew had been _so close_.

He lurched to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair. It was tacky from mousse, and when he glanced over at the mirror it was sticking up in a tousled mess. He crossed the room and picked up a brush from Jean’s table before tossing it back down without touching his hair.

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Jean didn’t sound like he was going to resurface for a while, so Neil pushed his way out of the door. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, only that he couldn’t sit still right now.

The common room was partially full when he arrived. Jenkins was playing pool against some of the seniors, and she shouted meanly when she sunk a ball. An Exy game played on the television, which a number of the Ravens were watching with varying degrees of interest.

“Hey rookie,” Jenkins called. When Neil met her eyes with a glare, she grinned. Her hair was freshly bleached and she wore a bright red ballcap jauntily on her head.

Neil knew that as a girl in the Nest she felt a lot of pressure to be tough. He still despised her.

“Have a fun time chatting with your _boyfriend_?” she said.

Neil gave her a venomous smile. “And how was your interview, Jenkins? Oh wait—I forgot, nobody cares what you think.”

“I’m surprised you still have your head,” Engle said, looming behind Jenkins like a gargoyle. “Don’t tell me Riko’s getting soft now.”

“Soft in the head, maybe,” Neil said, dropping into one of the armchairs. A couple people actually laughed, though the sound was quickly quenched by glares from the seniors.

The game on the television was from the Northeastern district—nobody important. He managed to watch it for about thirty seconds before fingers dug into his hair, yanking his head back.

Jenkins glared down at him, her hair falling into a curtain around their faces. “You are such a worthless piece of shit,” she snarled. “Any one of us could outplay you any day of the—”

Neil twisted out of her grip, bounding to his feet. “Do you want to fucking try me?”

Jenkins looked taken aback. All the Ravens were watching them now, as Neil shoved his way past the armchair and got right up into Jenkins’ face. “You want to do this right now?” he demanded.

Fear widened Jenkins' eyes. She glanced to the side quickly, but there was no good way out; she’d lose clout if she backed down now. Neil’s lips curled in an unfriendly grin as he leaned into her space. She was a couple inches taller than him, but it didn’t matter right then.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I know you’ve been dying to do it. Take a fucking swing at me. See what happens.”

Her face hardened and her shoulder came up with an uppercut. But for all she was a decent striker, she wasn’t a fighter; Neil knocked her hand aside effortlessly, slamming his hand into her shoulder.

She stumbled back several steps, clutching her arm. A sudden sheen of nervous sweat glistened on her forehead. Her eyes tracked him, wide and tense.

His lip curled. “You talk big shit for someone who can’t even throw a punch.”

She swallowed. The Ravens watched, silent. Nobody tried to help her; they were waiting to see who would come out weaker before they attacked. “You don’t act so big when Riko’s around,” she said. “You’re nothing more than a trained dog.”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to let Riko fight your battles for you,” Neil said. “You’ve wanted to knock me down since day one. Don’t waste your golden opportunity.”

Her face pinched with resolve and she shook her arm out. She charged forward and Neil met her swing easily, twisting her arm behind her back. She let out a yelp of pain as she went to her knees, shoulder contorted up above her.

Neil bared his teeth. Jenkins' eyes flashed up towards him, terrified. Something fierce in him leapt. _This is what you deserve._

The rage in his chest went out like a wet blanket had been thrown over it. He released Jenkins arm like it had burned him, taking several steps back. Jenkins crumpled, biting her lip to hide her gasping breath. Her face shone with sweat and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Neil cast his eyes around the room. The Ravens watched with a dozen different expressions on their faces. He’d just made Jenkins into a target. She was a selfish, cold-hearted bitch, but—

He took a deep breath, a seed of self-loathing sprouting in his gut.

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” he said, directing his words to the room at large. He threw himself back into the armchair, setting his jaw. He couldn’t afford to show weakness now; mercy would do Jenkins no good.

He heard scuffling behind him and didn’t turn to look. A door swung open and closed, clacking shut loudly. The Exy announcer was the only sound in the room for a moment and Neil fixed his gaze on the screen, unseeing.

Finally, murmurs started up, and the Ravens settled back into their leisure activities. Neil breathed slowly, but the agitation in his skin didn’t settle.

“Christ,” someone said. Neil let his eyes slide over. It was Tyler Powell, one of the juniors. He grinned crookedly. “You’re fucking intense.” His grin widened, and he dropped a wink in Neil’s direction. “You ever need someone to work through that frustration, you know where to find me.”

If there had been any doubt about what he meant by that, it was completely eliminated by the lewd gesture that accompanied it. Neil gave him a flat look, about to dismiss him out of hand…and paused.

His eyes wandered across Powell’s lounging form. He played defensive dealer, and his shoulders were broad and muscled, but not bulky. His hair was trimmed short on the sides and not much longer on top, dark and spiked with gel. He was good enough looking, Neil supposed, by the way that people measured those things.

Powell’s eyebrows rose at Neil’s continued stare, equal parts bemused and a little off-put.

Neil clicked his tongue as he made a split-second decision. “Okay,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

Powell blinked. “What?”

Neil took three steps towards the door before shooting a challenging glance over his shoulder. “Well?”

Powell stayed flopped on the couch for a second longer before a huge grin split his face in half. He scrambled to his feet. _Eager_ , Neil thought, but pushed out the door without checking to see if Powell was following. A wolf-whistle chased them into the hallway.

Neil’s heart thumped heavily against his sternum. The Ravens knew he didn’t participate in the constant coupling that went on during their rare moments of free time. He did know, however, that the laundry room was a regular haunt for these things, so he set off in that direction.

Powell caught up to him after a couple of steps. He was still grinning. “I can’t actually believe Neil Josten is getting down of his high horse today. You know, I thought you were gay, but—”

“I’m not gay,” Neil said, reflexively. Beth had told him that once and—well, it did feel right.

“Oh, yeah, I get that,” Powell said. Neil couldn’t stop his brows from wrinkling as he shot Powell a skeptical look. He shrugged. “Lots of the guys here aren’t. But your only other options are Jenkins and Weinberg, and a hand’s a hand, you know? Lucky for me—”

Neil’s lip curled. “Stop talking before I change my mind,” he said, shoving open the door to the laundry room. Powell laughed and trailed his fingers up Neil’s back. He sucked in a breath but forced himself not to shove Powell away. He needed to work this out. Powell might be clueless, but he’d gotten one thing right. Neil was _frustrated_ , in every possible way. 

He surveyed the narrow space. A small box sat on top of the nearest washing machine, and Neil could see the foil wrappers of condoms sitting within it. He bit down a recoil and walked past the box without touching it.

He stopped near the wall and turned to face Powell. He stepped into Neil’s space, sliding his hands over Neil’s hips, still grinning.

Neil had to tilt his head to look up at his face. Why did everyone have to be so damn tall? He shook his head and hopped up to sit on one of the washing machines.

Their faces were close enough to level that Neil could see Powell’s pupils dilate. “Hot,” he said.

Neil shuffled into a more comfortable position. “Yes or—”

Powell kissed him before he could finish the question. Neil fumbled, unprepared. Powell’s mouth was hot and wet, covering Neil’s entire bottom lip. His saliva slicked Neil’s skin, smearing his chin. Neil made a face and fixed his fingers into Powell’s short hair, tugging him into a better position.

Powell grinned against his lips for a second before he slotted their mouths back together. Neil let him guide his mouth open, Powell’s tongue slipping immediately into his mouth. Static buzzed in Neil’s ears as he slid his tongue along the slippery roof of Powell’s mouth. His teeth were glossy and smooth against Neil’s lips, slick with spit. His hands slid up Neil’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the crease of his hip. Neil couldn’t help but jump a little, and Powell laughed.

“Just relax,” he murmured, ducking his head and mouthing at Neil’s neck. He flattened his tongue against Neil’s throat and sucked, his lips hot and wet and Neil’s skin felt like it would peel off—

Neil grimaced and pulled back. “This isn’t working.”

He twitched as Powell rubbed his hands up his thighs in a gesture that was clearly meant to be soothing. “Shh,” he said. “Just let me take care of it.”

Neil tried to keep his breathing in check as Powell’s hand cupped the front of his pants. The friction was weird—not bad, not good, just weird. Neil closed his eyes, trying to imagine he was somewhere else, with _someone_ else, but his mind shied away from that fantasy. He didn’t want to bring Andrew here, not even in his mind. Powell’s fingers undid his button and he reacted without thinking, shoving him away.

“Hey, hey, Josten—”

“No,” Neil said, hastily redoing his pants and jumping off the laundry machine. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but his skin still felt wet and uncomfortable. He pressed the back of his hand to his lips. They felt wrong, slimy and over-heated.

Powell held his hands up as he backed away. His hair was rumpled from where Neil had tried to hang onto it. Nerves shimmered in his eyes. Neil wondered if he was thinking of the earlier fight, and fearing a repeat. “Okay,” he said, like he was calming a wild animal. “It’s okay. I get it. Message received.”

“Shut up,” Neil snarled. Hairs prickled on every inch of his body. The heat of shame crept into his ears. He’d _wanted_ this. Instead, he felt even more tightly wound, and sick to his stomach. He wasn’t even turned on. Whatever it was in him that Andrew had found, dug up out of the ashes of his fucked-up childhood, it was broken. He couldn’t even enjoy this.

Powell was still making pacifying sounds, but Neil didn’t wait around to listen. He took off into the hallways at a lurching gait, ducking through side hallways and through cleaning cubbies so that he didn’t pass anyone on his way back to his room.

Jean was there when he arrived. He lay flat on his back, eyes glazed over as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t ask what Neil had been up to. No doubt he’d learn soon enough; the Ravens thrived on gossip. Beth would hate it, Neil thought, and almost choked on a laugh at the absurdity of it.

The click of the bathroom door behind him sounded like relief. He sagged against the counter, staring at his face in the mirror. With every passing year, he looked more like his father. His blue eyes watched him back, red-rimmed and cold.

He turned mindlessly from the mirror and stripped out of the horrible outfit from Kathy’s show. He switched on the shower and stepped under the spray without checking the temperature. The scalding water scraped his skin raw. His scars stood out against the burnt pink of his skin, shades of deep reddish-purple and silver overlapping where the deepest wounds crossed the shallowest.

He washed his hair and body quickly and efficiently, barely aware of what he was doing. He scrubbed away at his skin like he could take off the part that Powell had touched, and was at least partially successful.

He pressed one hand against the slippery wall of the shower. Water ran down his bare skin, dripping into his eyes from his hair. He pushed the dangling strands back and let his hand slide down to rest on the back of his neck.

“Andrew,” he whispered, just to hear his name out loud. His voice cracked on the second syllable and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the back of his hand. His other hand squeezed.

“Andrew,” he said again, stronger. The spray of the shower still drowned his voice, but it felt like finally dislodging a thorn after walking on it for days. College Exy had treated Andrew well; even in the scant minute Neil had seen him, Andrew looked strong, his shoulders broad and his chest thick and sturdy as a barrel.

He didn’t acknowledge his hand slipping between his legs. The catching in his breath was loud in his ears, but it didn’t escape the drone of the shower. He let himself speed up, remembering that last day in Andrew’s room. The ripple of muscles moving under his hands, the soft, half muffled sounds Andrew made when he was close, the salty-sweet taste of his sweat, the bite of teeth against his skin—

He came with Andrew’s name on his lips, swallowed by the white tiles and hissing spray. He rested against the wall for only a moment, the brief high fading like every disappointing attempt before it. He rinsed his hand under the spray and let the world grow fuzzy and indistinct in the steam. A faint, high noise whined in his ears.

He shut off the shower and climbed out, changing into a fresh set of clothes mechanically.

His chest ached with longing. He missed Andrew. He’d never lied to himself and thought otherwise, but he’d never meant to rely on Andrew this much. His loneliness felt like it would consume him whole; he missed Andrew like a bird misses the sky, like an addict misses the needle.

The feeling would fade, he knew. This kind of pain couldn’t be sustained for long before his mind would shut it off, wall it into a safe place where it could be seen but not felt. Encased in a sturdy glass display box like an artifact in a museum.

Jean was sitting up when Neil exited the bathroom. He didn’t comment on how long Neil had taken; possibly he hadn’t noticed.

“Riko will be back in an hour,” he said.

Neil nodded tiredly and rounded the bed to drop onto his own. The soft mattress sank under his weight, enveloping him.

Jean watched him, looking conflicted.

“Out with it,” Neil said.

Jean chewed his lip for another long moment before he pulled out his phone, tapping the screen a couple of times before passing it over.

Neil accepted it. It was open to a text chat with Kevin. The most recent text showed only three words.

_Seth is dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary (for anyone who wanted/needed one) : neil tries to vent some energy by hooking up with one of the other ravens, but he gets a bit grossed out by the kissing and tells the guy to stop and is generally just super ace about the whole experience. Neil returns to his room and gets off in the shower, thinking about andrew and feeling pretty pathetic about it.
> 
> if any/all of that makes you uncomfortable, you can probably move on without reading this chapter (though you might want to scroll up and read the last line). all you really need to know from this chapter is neil is Not Okay, which lbr is not news to anyone. 
> 
> thanks for reading! i swear things will start looking up soon!


End file.
